


mama said do what you want, say prayers at night

by sky_reid



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Age of Consent, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexuality, Developing Relationship, Drinking Games, Fluff, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Sexuality, Unconventional Families, Underage Drinking, a minor panic attack, and regular drinking too, arthur is too noble for his own good, discussions of consent issues, do not try this at home, everyone's american oops sorry, fuck idk, good tag, im srs don't, important explanations can be found in author's notes, like major age difference, mentions of off screen bullying, not before he is legally able to consent to it, not technically underage but tread carefully, nothing truly untoward happens to merlin, poly and open relationships and friends with benefits (not between merlin and arthur), think that's all that warrants a warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he's fine until he falls for one of his sister's best friends who just so happens to be a bit younger. then he's not fine at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mama said do what you want, say prayers at night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicedowntherabbithole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicedowntherabbithole/gifts).



> okay so first things first - this story is actually _complete_ , the plot part of it anyway. all additional chapters will be explicit sex scenes that just didn't make it in originally. while it is primarily (and romantically) merlin/arthur and a number of the extra scenes will be merlin/arthur, there are other important relationships. arthur is occasionally part of the romantic, sexual and stable, if to a degree open, gwen/lancelot/gwaine relationship, though for him it's only sex. merlin is very young in the beginning of the fic, but nothing that happens between him and arthur is actually illegal. though the age difference does lead to some power imbalance i suppose, so if you are particularly sensitive about the subject...
> 
> some time ago (okay, months, it's been months, 1d is very distracting) i noticed an _alicedowntherabbithole_ reacting? positively??? i think????? (i don't wanna be presumptuous lmao) to my work so if you are them: i decided to write a story for you and didn't know what you liked so i based it on your then-recent tags and i hope you see this and i hope you like it but if it's not your thing that's cool my bad
> 
> this was originally gonna be abt 1k of college student!arthur and high school kid!merlin making out, then it became a 4k drinking games and making out fic and 20,000 words later here we are with something entirely different whatcha gonna do
> 
> i'd like to point out that this entire thing is morally dubious and how healthy this relationship is is questionable; despite what the characters say and how the story ends, this is not an ideal relationship and you should most definitely not be striving towards this kind of setup

 

 

 

_mama said do what you want, say prayers at night_

 

Arthur is a grown man. He's 27, he has a job, he has a life. There is absolutely no discernible reason for him to be getting flustered by thinking about a 14-year-old kid who sucks at math and draws dragons on every available surface. But he is.

 

*

 

Arthur wasn't a bad student in high school. He was on the soccer team, rarely missed class and even maintained a solid GPA. It all amounted to _good enough_ for most universities, but not for his father and not for Harvard Law. One of those problems was more easily fixable than the other.

 

Pulling a few connections got him into Harvard, but even now Arthur doesn't think anything could've truly gotten him into his father's heart. They've always had a complicated relationship; his father never forgave him for being spared by the robbers who killed his mother when he was still but a baby and truth be told Arthur never really forgave himself either. He doesn't think about it, not actively with proper, fully formed thoughts, in words and sentences, but it's always there in the back of his mind, just like it had always been there between him and his father, in every insult his father ever yelled at him, every argument that essentially boiled down to _you're not good enough_.

 

But at the end of the day they were still family, they still loved each other, they still _had_ each other, the two of them and Morgana, the chubby toddler with huge green eyes and thick dark hair who his father adopted when Arthur was 14. Which is why Arthur wasn't ready to be cut off at 18, a pre-law student like any other, working his way through school and sharing a dorm room with someone he didn't know.

 

It worked out for him in the end. University was a good time, it taught him how to work hard for what he wanted and gave him the drive and work ethic to become the lawyer he needed to be to have the life he has now; it taught him how to have fun in his free time and make friends for life. Habits he maintains to this day.

 

So Arthur has a job. He defends greedy rich scumbags from accusations that don't even remotely begin to scratch at the iceberg of their sins and makes them even richer at the expense of other greedy rich scumbags (and sees his father in every single one of them) for an astronomical paycheck and buries himself in as many _pro bono_ cases as he can possibly take on to redeem himself. So Arthur has a life. He has his own minimalistically decorated ( _sparsely furnished_ , Lancelot said the first time he saw it; _unliveable and unlived in_ , Gwaine still insists) apartment, has it cleaned by a cleaning lady once a week because he can afford it. He has friends and makes a point of going out with them at least twice a month; he even dates, kind of, sort of, maybe, casually. He has an on-and-off thing going with Gwaine and sometimes Gwen and occasionally Lancelot (who have an on-and-not-off thing together) and more often than not two or all three of them at once and it's nice, it's easy, it's a life, _his_ life, one that he built all on his own, without his father's help.

 

The point _is_. Arthur is a grown man who has a life.

 

Then his father dies and his life turns upside down in a span of hours.

 

*

 

It's a Tuesday and Arthur has court in 15 minutes when his phone rings. He turns it off and goes back to his notes. Later he finds out it was Morgana calling to tell him their father was dead.

 

She's 16 and alone and crying as she talks to a police officer, her face a pale canvas for the colorful lights of the EMS and police cars when Arthur next sees her. He’s sold his apartment and moved back into his childhood home by the end of the week.

 

So his life is different now. _Work_ is farther away, the drive longer, including a detour to drop Morgana off at school. _Home_ is a cluttered house, the same rooms and hallways as ever, but completely different without his father's foreboding presence. _Family_ is a stepsister-turned-stepdaughter he's always been too distant from suddenly becoming the center of his world.

 

And none of that is even what really rocks his world.

 

*

 

There's always been too big of an age difference between them to make them close siblings. Never, though, has it been as obvious as it is now.

 

Morgana doesn't treat him very differently. He doesn't tuck her in at night. She doesn't respect his curfews. They don't sit down and talk about how they're both orphans now. He's still the brother she pretends to hate but secretly couldn't live without and she's still the little sister he's always wanted to be a role model for even when she snarks at him and calls him _daddy_ just to be difficult.

 

But he's also her father in every way that matters. He provides for her and goes to her parent-teacher conferences and tells her to stay safe when she goes out. And quite frankly he has no idea what to do with that kind of responsibility. He's always wanted to be a father (has wanted it since he first held Morgana in his arms, really, but she doesn't need to know that), but he never expected it to be quite like this, never thought he'd be this unprepared. Lancelot tells him he's doing great every time they talk, Gwen teaches him how to cook, Gwaine takes him out drinking and politely doesn't mention it when he catches him crying over things he doesn't let himself think about while sober.

 

It's fine. He's doing well, as well as can be expected under the circumstances. It's stressful and hectic but he's always done best under pressure. He's fine.

 

Until he falls for one of Morgana's friends.

 

*

 

He's working late one night, a _pro bono_ case gone awry leaving him scrambling like a first year student in court. The client is a single father of a teenage girl, recently widowed and struggling to make ends meet. They're being evicted and Arthur _thought_ he had it handled until he was blindsided by a carefully worded contract subclause he'd written off. It's possible, maybe, that this case is hitting a little too close to home.

 

Either way, Arthur can't make it home before Morgana gets there and she doesn't have a key (technically, _he_ doesn't have a key yet and one of these days he'll remember to cut his own). He lets her stay at a friend's until nightfall, but makes her promise to go to the Trans' after that. Arthur's known them his whole life, a lovely elderly couple with no children of their own who were always happy to babysit him when he was a kid and he's happy to find that hasn't changed when he calls them to ask for a favor.

 

It's almost midnight by the time Arthur gets home, having completely lost track of time while working. He knocks on the Trans' door lightly, hopes to keep it quiet so as not to wake them. If he remembers correctly, the family's always had live-in servants occupying the rooms at the front of the house. He's right as it turns out; it's a young boy who opens the door for him.

 

“Arthur, I take it?” he asks, before Arthur can even open his mouth. “You're late.”

 

Arthur is torn between being indignant and apologetic. He settles for incredulous. “You can't talk to me like that. You're awfully impolite for a servant.”

 

The kid's eyes narrow a bit. He checks his bare left wrist and raises his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Would you look at that,” he says, “I'm off the clock.” He doesn't invite Arthur in before he walks deeper into the house, but he does leave the door open so Arthur follows. He doesn't remember servants being this... _spirited_. But then, the kid is awfully young; it’s probably his mother who actually works there, the petite middle-aged woman Arthur’s seen pottering around the Trans’ front porch and her son just living there and helping out occasionally. Arthur figures in such an arrangement, the boy can get away with some rudeness, especially this late at night.

 

Morgana is in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a glass of something Arthur dearly hopes is blueberry juice in her hand. There's an indent in the sofa next to Morgana and a second glass resting on the coffee table. “Am I interrupting something?” Arthur asks. The protective, parenting part of him is panicking inside, but he thinks he manages to play the role of a teasing older brother well enough.

 

The boy blushes faintly, but Morgana snorts. She pats the boy's cheek gently, a certain familiarity to the gesture that makes Arthur think he should probably know who this is, and says, “This is my _friend_ , Merlin.” Arthur does know that name, and a lot of other things that go with it; he didn't think one of Morgana's best friends was their neighbors' servant though. Realizing that sounds horrible even in his own head, he opts not to voice it.

 

“Nice to meet you, Merlin,” he says instead, extending a hand in Merlin's direction. Merlin eyes it suspiciously for a second before taking it. His fingers are stained with blue ink.

 

“Charmed,” he replies, the word dipped in just enough sarcasm to be teasing, eyes alight with just enough mirth to take the edge off.

 

“Likewise,” Arthur says, pitching his voice to imitate Merlin's and squeezing his hand a little harder before letting go.

 

And that is how it starts.

 

*

 

Suddenly Merlin isn’t just that kid helping his mom garden across the street when Arthur is picking up his paper in the morning or the boy waiting on the sidewalk in front of the local public school or the friend Morgana talks about sometimes, he’s a face and a name and a long-fingered hand and stumbling feet and cheeky smiles and sharp cheekbones tinted pink and before Arthur gets to analyze why that makes any difference, Merlin is in his house more often than not. He’s there on the weekends, studying with Morgana in her room. He’s there in the afternoons, drawing elaborate dragons on any scrap of paper he can find, leaving behind sheets upon sheets of different designs and scribbles with names and characteristics. He’s there on late nights, baking Morgana’s favorite raspberry-mint muffins in the kitchen. He chides Arthur for being late if he’s home even a minute after 6 and he leaves the kitchen a mess every time and he grumbles about not being _Arthur’s_ servant whenever he’s asked to clean up, but he orders Arthur’s documents on his desk and puts a blanket over Arthur when he falls asleep and makes coffee in the morning if he’s slept over.

 

Arthur knows more about him than he ever thought he’d care to, knows his favorite brand of grape juice and how to make his favorite pasta sauce, knows how his fingers wrap around pens and pencils when he draws, how his eyes glide over words in giant epic fantasy novels he reads, how his cheeks burn when he’s embarrassed, how he looks down and to the left when he’s feeling shy.

 

How his eyes linger on Arthur’s shoulders and how he thinks no one notices.

 

Arthur notices. He notices everything about Merlin. He doesn’t think too much into why.

 

*

 

When the Trans invite him and Morgana to a dinner, Arthur agrees without a second thought. It’s only once he’s there and Merlin is serving them, cheeks aflame and eyes shifty, that he realizes how awkward the situation is. Morgana’s hands grip the cutlery too tightly. Merlin doesn’t speak to Arthur for the next week, cold shoulder and pointed silence all throughout the one evening he spends watching third grade horror movies with Morgana on Arthur’s couch, even when he microwaves leftover lasagna and drops the plate on top of Arthur’s paperwork in the middle of the night. Arthur snaps at everyone at work for the smallest of things and pretends he doesn’t know why he’s tense.

 

*

 

Arthur is knee deep in a merger contract when Morgana taps a monogrammed pen against his glass. “You’re better at math than me,” she says, like that’s a logical conclusion to a conversation they were not actually having. Arthur looks at her over his reading glasses and raises an eyebrow. “You should help Merlin. With school and SATs and... stuff.” Arthur’s pen goes clean through the page he’s been taking notes on.

 

Morgana is already halfway up the stairs when he thinks to yell, “I’m not a math tutor!” It doesn’t come out as indignant as he planned.

 

*

 

Tutoring Merlin is not a problem. He’s not the next Archimedes, alright, but he picks up fast and he works hard. He forgets his notes sometimes and is chronically late even though he lives literally across the street, but he brings baked goods so it all evens out. In the margins of his notebooks he draws Arthur as an elf or a vampire or a sorcerer on good days, as a dwarf or an orc or a gnome on bad ones. They have sandwiches or leftovers for dinner during breaks between logarithms and theorems, spill coffee and hot chocolate over Merlin’s notes and Arthur’s contracts alike. Arthur starts bringing work home less. Merlin starts getting better grades. It works for both of them.

 

*

 

Except for how tutoring Merlin is definitely a Problem, capitalization and all. It works, is the thing, works in a way he never expected it to, in a way none of his other relationships work and it’s confusing, unsettling even. Leon’s his friend because they’ve known each other since before they could spell their own names. Gwen is his friend because Gwen can’t help being a friend to everyone she meets. Lancelot is his friend because Lancelot sees the best in everyone. Gwaine is his friend because... Well, Arthur doesn’t actually know.

 

But with Merlin, it’s different. Merlin is his friend (and god, it feels weird to call a _teenager_ that, but it’s what they are, there’s nothing else they can be, not with how Arthur’s fridge is stocked with fruit only Merlin eats, not with how Merlin knows where to find their newly cut spare keys) because Merlin has always seen him for who he really is. Merlin spends so many evenings in Arthur’s house and shows up at such inopportune times that he’s seen Arthur at his worst as well as his best, frustrated while on the phone with recalcitrant clients, exhausted after a few too many hours of trying to juggle mergers and acquisitions and _pro bono_ clients and more than once drinking his own weight in bourbon after a particularly bad argument with Morgana.

 

And still, Merlin comes to him. With math problems, yes, but with other things too. It’s only a month into their tutoring sessions when Merlin breaks down over a bad grade, talks about his GPA and how much he wants to go to university and how much he can’t afford it, probably not even with a scholarship. Arthur takes his glasses off and listens, makes them tea and bites his tongue around whatever advice comes to his mind because he’s experienced the kind of pride he sees in Merlin’s eyes and he knows his suggestions won’t be taken well, especially not when Merlin only knows him as filthy rich. Arthur doesn’t think of it as a milestone because nothing changes drastically, but maybe he should because there is _a_ change, in the way Merlin no longer tries to cover it up when he’s tired or upset, in every minute pause he makes to think before answering a personal question.

 

He tries to teach Arthur about different breeds of dragons, gives monologues about books he’s read recently or retells movies he’s liked. He mentions how much he hates moving as much as he does and how much it pains him to watch his mother, a woman he’s idolized his entire life, spend her days cooking and cleaning a place that doesn’t feel like home even after two years. He talks about a father he doesn’t remember and friends he’s lost contact with since coming here. Something in his tone of voice gives Arthur the urge to fidget. He doesn’t.

 

*

 

Sometimes Merlin talks about things like bad skin and not being invited to parties and teachers who have it out for him. It reminds Arthur of how young Merlin really is (it’s not that he _forgets_ per se, but it does fade from the forefront of his mind in light of how mature Merlin can be; Arthur knows all too well how growing up with a single busy parent makes one into an adult fast). It grates on him more than simple lack of interest in a topic warrants and leads to more than one snide comment.

 

*

 

Once, and only once, Merlin jokes about Arthur being an absent father. It doesn’t matter how Merlin means it, it hits far too close to home for Arthur and before he knows it, he’s kicking Merlin out. Neither of them apologizes the next time they see each other, too stubborn and proud to admit they were in any way wrong, but Merlin brings Arthur’s favorite lava cake and Arthur declares movie night with Morgana and a few other friends she invites so it’s all good.

 

*

 

For New Year’s Arthur gets spectacularly drunk. Morgana is at a house party hosted by a friend Arthur’s met and may or may not have had run through a criminal database or two. Merlin is at home, marathoning _Disney_ movies and texting Arthur through it incessantly. Somewhere between his first round of shots and his fourth beer Merlin texts him a presumably drunken _wihs u werehere_ and Arthur turns his phone off because he doesn’t know how to respond to that and what he _wants_ to say he knows he shouldn’t.

 

Gwen clinks their glasses together. “Alright?” she asks.

 

He shrugs, nods. “You?” She shrugs, nods. Downs the rest of her drink and drags him off into the crowd to dance. Even with how spacious Gwaine’s loft is there are people pressing into them from every side, sweaty bodies covered in glow-in-the-dark paint moving against them. Arthur likes this, being surrounded by people he only vaguely recognizes, having them so close that it almost feels like they are all just working parts of a single organism; it makes it easier to just let go and stop thinking. He knows Gwen feels the same way because she told him as much last New Year’s, pulled him in by the skinny tie he was wearing and whispered in his ear, _I just worry about him and it’s easier not to think when you’re a bit drunk and dancing, don’t you think?_ and Arthur _gets it_ , he worries too, they all do, whenever Lancelot volunteers to work on a holiday, cover for other cops who have families to celebrate with. It’s always hardest on Gwen though. Lancelot’s only ended up in hospital once, even then with nothing serious, and he knows how to take care of himself, but so did Gwen’s father and he was killed on duty so Arthur understands. He pulls Gwen closer and kisses her.

 

That night he falls into bed with Gwen and Gwaine, all of them only halfway to sober. In the morning he wakes up to the smell of coffee and Lancelot, still in his uniform, waking them all up with kisses and a smile. It’s happened countless times before so he doesn’t know why he feels a pang of something like disappointment in his chest.

 

*

 

He goes out for lunch with Leon a few days later. It’s the first time in years that they haven’t spent New Year together, Leon having taken Elena upstate to meet his parents. It’s weird, they’re the same age, grew up together, went to the same schools, even work at the same firm; they’ve always done things together but they’re in different places in their lives now. Arthur envies the simplicity of where Leon is - stable job, two bedroom apartment, fiancee, a good relationship with two living parents, no teenage sisters he needs to raise. Then he promptly feels guilty for thinking that.

 

*

 

It takes Arthur significantly longer than a month to open up, but when he does it’s like he can’t stop. Morgana hadn’t been home when he came from work, no note or text, and when Arthur calls, she says she’s out with friends and refuses to come back. It’s not even that, though, that has him yelling at her and slamming the phone down, it’s when she says “You’re just like Uther, you just want to control me,” and it’s funny because there was a time when being told he was just like his father was the biggest compliment Arthur could think of, but now all he feels at the words is sick.

 

He’s on his third glass of wine when Merlin comes in and finds him. “You know you are becoming an alcoholic, right?” he asks, but he doesn’t try to move the bottle away from Arthur. So Arthur tells him. About how he’s not ready to be the only parental figure in Morgana’s life and about how he still misses his father despite everything and about how he’s not sure anymore that the job he has is the job he wants. Merlin pours him another glass of wine, puts a hand on his forearm and keeps it there for the rest of the evening.

 

Arthur blames it on alcohol and exhaustion and the late hour when he can no longer maintain the persona he’s built for most everyone around him to see, but the truth is that it just kind of happens. The late night conversations and comforting touches and small private smiles, they just happen. Easily. Constantly.

 

*

 

The day Merlin turns 15 he celebrates by throwing a small party in the Trans’ basement. Morgana is there. Arthur is invited. Instead he drives to town, goes to his favorite bar and gets off in the bathroom with a pretty girl he doesn’t plan on seeing again.

 

*

 

It doesn’t ever really _hit_ him, it’s nothing dramatic like that, never really is with him. Like with most things that he doesn’t really want to know but can’t escape, he just sort of forgets to ignore it one day. He wakes up and it’s just… there. It happened when he was 19 and brushing his teeth; he looked at the mirror, thought to himself _I’m bisexual_ , and that was that. When he was 23 and putting on his socks, his fingers sort of froze and he thought _I’ll never be enough for my father_ , and that was that. When he was 26 and locking his door, he dropped his keys, bent over to pick them up and thought _What I have with Gwen and Lancelot and Gwaine is great but it’s not something I can see myself doing for the rest of my life_ , and that was that.

 

It was never some huge realization that shifted everything else into place mostly because it was always something he’d already known on some level, but chose not to think about. It never triggered any major changes in his life or behavior because most of the time there was nothing he _could_ do.

 

So one day he’s making waffles for breakfast and he thinks, _I’m in love with Merlin_. And that’s that.

 

*

 

Arthur tries not to think too much about it. Sometimes it’s easy; there’s too much happening at work or Morgana gets sick or Gwaine takes him out and keeps him occupied. Sometimes it’s not so easy. Sometimes he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling because he can’t sleep and he imagines Merlin is next to him. Sometimes he wakes up and he’s hard and sweating and when he takes himself in hand he imagines Merlin’s mouth around him instead. Sometimes he’s driving home with a headache and he wishes Merlin was with him so he could complain about whatever’s on his mind.

 

He doesn’t know what it is about Merlin. It could be the strange blend of underlying insecurity and flashes of confidence or it could be the way he puts everyone else first. It might be how he enjoys learning the endless trivia about all things fantasy or it might be how he doesn’t begrudge Arthur any of the many flaws he’s sure to have caught glimpses of by now. It may even be how frustratingly stubborn he can be or how he’s absolute shit at obeying and respecting authority or how he would do anything if he believed it was for the right cause or the sarcasm so seemingly out of keeping with his idealism or the talent for drawing or the penchant for baking or a million other things. It’s probably all of that and more. And that’s not a problem; Arthur’s found all those things attractive in other people and he can divorce them from Merlin’s age because he’s relatively sure they’ll be there to some degree in a month or a year or a decade.

 

What is a problem is when Arthur looks at him, pale skin and bright eyes and sharp angles and a body he’s yet to grow into which, _God_ , Arthur’s never found attractive before but here he is and wants to press him against a wall and kiss him breathless. It’s a problem when Arthur imagines running his lips and tongue and fingers over Merlin’s face and neck and down his bare back and the curve of his ass. He gets off on it, hard and frequently; jerks off to the fantasies of fucking Merlin slow and gentle and face to face the first time, of Merlin taking him rough and hard from behind, of having Merlin over the hood of his car, of Merlin on his knees for him or riding him in the morning. The come is still cooling on his fingers and stomach when the guilt kicks in. Fuck, there is something wrong with him if he wants a 15-year-old kid that way and he could never, _would_ never— But he can’t stop thinking about it.

 

*

 

Nothing changes about their tutoring sessions, Arthur makes sure of it. If anything, he’s _more_ professional about them, more focused on the math they are supposed to be about and more careful not to let himself slip and think of Merlin as a friend, not to let himself slip and _be_ Merlin’s friend. He prepares twice the work, cuts off any conversation that threatens to veer too far away from the subject at hand and even takes Merlin’s pen away once when he starts doodling. He knows Merlin notices; he sees the hurt looks that Merlin gives him and how he tries to get closer again. Arthur pulls back every time (even though he thinks, sometimes, that maybe, just maybe he’s not alone in his feelings, because he can’t, they _can’t_ , Merlin is _fifteen_ , he’s _illegal_ and sometimes that makes Arthur feel sick).

 

But it’s better this way. Nothing can happen between them, certainly not now, possibly not ever. So yeah, it’s better this way.

 

*

 

“You alright?” Gwaine asks over a beer at some point.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur says.

 

*

 

“You alright?” Leon asks when he drops some files off on Arthur’s desk.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur says.

 

*

 

“You alright?” Lancelot asks on the phone one evening.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur says.

 

*

 

“You alright?” Gwen asks one Saturday at brunch.

 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Arthur says and stabs at his eggs a little too viciously.

 

*

 

“You alright?” Merlin asks one evening, reaching over the table for Arthur’s arm.

 

Arthur stands up to pour himself a glass of water he’s not thirsty for.

 

*

 

“Seriously, Arthur, you need to stop moping,” Morgana says over pizza one day.

 

“I’m not moping,” Arthur argues automatically.

 

“Please, I know what moping looks like. And it looks like your face.” She chews on the crust for a minute like she’s choosing what to say next. It ends up being, “He likes you too, you know,” and giving Arthur a minor heart attack.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he manages around the tightness in his throat.

 

Morgana rolls her eyes. “You’re both a bit obvious. It’s fine, don’t worry. Or it will be, when you stop being a dick to him.”

 

Arthur rubs at the bridge of his nose. He’s not sure where to even begin; he knows flat out refusal won’t do it, Morgana knows him too well for that, but it doesn’t seem like reasoning with her is an option in this particular case. “Morgana,” he starts. Then doesn’t know how to continue.

 

“Look, Arthur.” She puts her slice down on her plate and staples her fingers. She looks suddenly much older than her age. “He likes you. God only knows why, but he does. So, just, you know, give him a chance.”

 

“It’s not about giving him a chance,” Arthur says, the first time he knows how to respond because this is not about Merlin not being good enough, it never was. “He’s _illegal_.”

 

Morgana raises an unimpressed eyebrow like Arthur’s argument makes no sense. “So don’t,” she wiggles her fingers, “ugh, you _know_.” She looks embarrassed for what might be the first time since Arthur’s moved in and Arthur knows his own face must be heating up too. For a second he can’t bring himself to look up from his plate but when their eyes do meet over the table they both burst out laughing and Arthur feels lighter than he has in maybe years. He just wishes it was all as easy as Morgana is making it seem.

 

*

 

It’s a particularly warm spring day and Merlin is wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up so it covers a good portion of his face and the sleeves pulled down so only the tips of his fingers are visible when he comes over for their weekly tutoring session. “What’s wrong?” Arthur asks, caring for Merlin too strong an instinct to suppress.

 

Merlin lifts one shoulder, says, “Nothing,” sidesteps Arthur and heads straight for the kitchen. Arthur finds him sitting at the table, a notebook open in front of him, the pages clear of his usual half-finished sketches of fantasy creatures. He’s avoiding Arthur’s eyes and doesn’t even try to start up a conversation. Arthur tells himself that’s what he wanted but everything feels wrong, from the set of Merlin’s shoulders to the tension in the air.

 

Arthur pulls a chair up to Merlin’s, sits close enough for their legs to press together. They sit in silence for so long the sunlight starts to dim. Eventually Merlin shrugs out of his hoodie; Arthur waits for him to fold it and put it on the table before he looks. The knuckles of Merlin’s right hand are scraped, a few drops of blood welling up in the scratches when he squeezes his hand into a fist and there’s an angry looking bruise on his left cheek. Arthur doesn’t gasp or reach out. He wants to though.

 

“I’m fine,” Merlin says, steady and sure when Arthur can’t say with certainty his voice wouldn’t shake with anger. “It’s happened before. Mostly it’s name calling and hiding my stuff but this has happened a few times too.” Arthur opens his mouth to say something, but Merlin beats him to it. “It’s a public school and I’m the awkward gay kid, it happens.”

 

“Well, it’s not _supposed_ to happen,” Arthur argues. His whole body is vibrating with anger. He’s never wanted to punch a teenager before. “It’s unfair.”

 

“It’s high school,” Merlin replies with a shrug. “It’s fine.” Arthur wants to argue more, maybe tell him how no one deserves to be bullied over who they love, how any sexuality should be accepted ( _I get it, Dad_ , says Morgana’s voice in his head) but Merlin is leaning into him a little, anxiousness clear in the lines of his face like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to be close and touch even now and that hurts a little. So Arthur puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in, holds him tight enough to feel the breath of relief that leaves his lungs and in that moment he can’t think of a single reason why it’s wrong to press his lips to Merlin’s forehead.

 

*

 

Arthur is having a bad day. He spent his morning making one of his father’s rich old friends even richer at the expense of several of his hotel’s tenants who, as far as Arthur can tell, haven’t done anything wrong. Then he spent his afternoon losing a hearing for a 15-year-old’s emancipation and had to watch him go back to his parents and the psychological abuse Arthur can’t prove. And then, on top of all that, he had to have his car towed because it wouldn’t start.

 

And then he ended up naked on Gwaine’s futon. So maybe he’s not having such a bad day after all.

 

“You’re tense,” Gwaine comments, walking his fingers up and down Arthur’s sternum. “Bad day?”

 

“Bad _decade_ more like.”

 

Gwaine laughs, open and relaxed and inviting, and Arthur kisses him. It’s hard not to be taken in by Gwaine’s charm and it’s not like Arthur really tries to resist. “You’ve been... _strange_ lately,” Gwaine tells him. His hand finds its way to Arthur’s hip and squeezes gently. “More tense, but more at ease somehow. It’s weird.” Arthur’s not sure if that’s good or bad. Gwaine grabs his waist and pulls him on top of himself with a grin. “Don’t worry, it’s good. Mostly. Would be better if you let yourself have whatever it is you’re denying yourself.”

 

Arthur stops grinding his hips against Gwaine’s to frown at him more effectively. “I’m not—“

 

“You _are_. Now, are you gonna fuck me or what?”

 

*

 

And maybe it’s not so bad if Arthur sits a little closer to Merlin again or if he asks Merlin about his day or if they start texting constantly again. Maybe it’s not a big deal if Arthur lets their fingers brush sometimes, if he puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, if he lets a touch linger just a bit, just sometimes. Maybe that’s okay, because Merlin leans into it every time.

 

*

 

But maybe it’s not okay, maybe none of that is okay because Merlin is but a child, only fifteen. It doesn’t matter if _his_ eyes linger or if _his_ hands roam but Arthur doesn’t have that luxury because Arthur is older, _much_ older, he’s the one who’s supposed be able to make the right choices here and he’s the one who would be held responsible for everything that can never happen between them. Arthur _knows_ this, there isn’t a moment when he’s not aware of it on some level, but it doesn’t stop him wanting and he wants _so_ much, the taste of Merlin on his lips and the feel of Merlin’s warm skin under his fingers and the sound of Merlin’s breath in his ear and a thousand other things he doesn’t expect to want - sharing ice cream and falling asleep on the couch together and waking up tangled in sheets and limbs. And still, every thought, no matter how tame and innocent, makes guilt twist in his stomach. It’s not even the legal aspect of the whole situation that makes him uneasy, it’s the idea that those laws exist to _protect_ children from being hurt by people... people like Arthur. Just the thought of hurting Merlin, of putting Merlin in a position where he might feel _obligated_ to do something he doesn’t really want to, it feels like a tight grip on Arthur’s lungs so maybe, maybe it’s not okay.

 

*

 

Leon and Elena set a date for late next January. Arthur had always pegged them for a summer wedding couple, one of those who get married barefoot somewhere in a green field full of colorful flowers. Instead he finds himself listening to Leon complain about shades of white like it’s not all the same color. For all his complaining it actually feels nice to be included in such a big part of their life so early on. Unfortunately it also reminds him of all the things he doesn’t have. Like a serious relationship. It doesn’t help that he knows Lancelot and Gwen have started talking about children. It’s ridiculous, really, even if Merlin weren’t as off limits as one gets, he’s far too young for a serious relationship, for marriage or children and it’s not like Arthur’s sure he’s ready for that himself. There’s still an odd pang of longing in his chest when Elena takes them cake tasting for the fourth time or Gwaine suggest mint green for a nursery.

 

*

 

On his seventeenth birthday, Arthur woke up to find out his father had left for a business trip. He sent their entire staff home, dropped Morgana off with the next door neighbors and invited Gwaine, Gwen, Elyan, Leon and Lancelot over. They broke into Uther’s liquor cabinet and were drunk off their faces before lunchtime. Arthur doesn’t really remember much between then and waking up in the middle of the night on the bathroom floor, the smell of stale vomit still strong in the air and his bed already occupied.

 

*

 

Morgana’s seventeenth birthday is comparatively a quiet affair. She doesn’t let it on but Arthur knows (has known since Christmas when she asked if they could forget the decorations and just have a simple dinner together) that she feels weird, even guilty, about big celebrations without Uther there so he agrees easily to let her invite a handful of friends over for a spectacularly unhealthy dinner and a sleepover. He even agrees to provide some alcohol - two beers each and a bottle of cranberry flavored vodka for cocktails because Gwaine is right, they’re gonna get drunk anyway, they might as well do it somewhere Arthur can keep an eye on them.

 

So he can explain the air mattresses in his living room and the candy wrappers on his sofa and the empty beer bottle currently spinning on the floor. What he can’t explain is how _he_ got roped into playing drinking games with his baby sister and her friends.

 

It was Truth or Dare first, after dinner (which consisted of pizza, McDonald’s, takeout and a wide variety of sweets) and about an hour of mocking whatever reality show was currently on TLC, but before alcohol came into play; Arthur was in his study, ostensibly going over some statistics, but really mostly fuming over _Flappy Bird_. He caught snippets of the game, mostly tame, interspersed with loud bursts of laughter.

 

Spin the Bottle was next, Arthur guesses, because when he went downstairs to pour himself a glass of water, the first thing he saw was his sister leaning over an empty beer bottle to kiss Freya. He felt a flush rising from his neck up to his cheeks and nearly dropped the glass he was holding, feeling inexplicably very much the younger of the two of them. He remembered in flashesall the times it was Morgana opening the basement door to find him making out with girls and later boys she only vaguely knew and always making that shocked little sound like she never even thought this was something Arthur did. He cleared his throat unconsciously, not even realizing how the gesture would appear until Morgana turned to him with a roll of her eyes. “I’m _seventeen_ , Arthur, not seven,” she said. Over her shoulder Arthur could see Merlin’s face, eyes a little wide and a little glassy, lips bitten red and shiny with spit, cheeks tinted pink with alcohol and half a cocktail still in one hand. He looked a little nervous and a little tipsy, well kissed and absolutely breathtaking. Arthur wondered if he could make Merlin look like that, make the blush spread from his cheeks down to his neck and chest, make other parts of his body slick and shiny. He shook his head clear of the thought and went to the sink. When he looked up Mordred was kissing Merlin, hand on his jaw and teeth sunk into his lip. Arthur did drop his glass then. It tumbled around the sink loudly enough to have a few sets of eyes on him in seconds.

 

Morgana smirked at him, raised an eyebrow. “Wanna join?”

 

And that is how Arthur ended up in a circle of teenagers, a beer bottle in hand, Morgana’s knee digging into his on one side and Merlin’s elbow brushing against his side every now and again, making his skin tingle at the point of contact. He brings the bottle up to his lips for something to do but Morgana slaps his hand.

 

“We haven’t started yet!”

 

Arthur scoffs. “You’ve got a bit of a head start,” he complains, but dutifully puts the bottle down on the floor in front of himself, between Morgana’s glass of a dark red cocktail and Merlin’s lighter one.

 

“Let’s start, then,” Morgause says, tilting her beer in Arthur’s direction. “I’ve never... gotten drunk on just beer.” Next to her Freya blushes and takes a small sip of her orange cocktail; to Arthur’s surprise, Morgana also drinks. “So, clockwise or counterclockwise?” Morgause asks.

 

“Counter,” Freya says immediately, her eyes oddly focused on Merlin. “I’ve never been attracted to someone more than ten years my senior.” Arthur feels more than he hears Merlin choke on air before raising the glass to his lips. On his other side Morgana does the same and okay, Arthur is going to investigate that further at some point. On second thought _no_ , no, he isn’t.

 

“Ugh, can we stop being boring?” Mordred complains. “I’m getting sober here. I’ve never kissed a girl.” Arthur feels like he’s not in on some kind of a private joke when everyone groans until Mordred drains half his beer along with the rest of them. Over his bottle Arthur sees Merlin taking a sip; he raises an eyebrow.

 

Merlin shrugs. “What? I didn’t always know I was gay.”

 

“If we’re gonna play dirty,” Morgana picks up without even putting her glass down, “I’ve never kissed a boy.” She’s barely said the words before everyone is drinking again.

 

“I’m starting to regret providing you with alcohol,” Arthur comments.

 

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Shut up and play?”

 

Arthur grins. “Can’t do both.” Morgana sticks her tongue out at him. It’s easy and fun and it makes something in Arthur relax where he didn’t realize he was tense.

 

Mordred grabs some popcorn from the floor and throws it at Arthur. “Get on with it!”

 

A wave of nostalgia washes over Arthur for a time when he did this with his own group of friends, one night in particular when Lancelot first joined their group and they played this same game to get to know him better or the other one when Arthur used this same game to come out or the one when they all drank to Leon’s _I’ve never wanted to kiss Gwaine_ and Gwaine leaned in and kissed each of them in turn.

 

It’s not so different, playing it now. Except for how Arthur can’t think of a single thing to say without finding out far more than he wants to know or letting on more than he wants to reveal. “I’ve never...” It occurs to him, as he watches a droplet of condensation run down the side of his bottle, that he’s missing the whole point of the game. “I’ve never done a striptease for someone.”

 

“Oh good lord,” Mordred groans, his face going red immediately. “The one thing...” He takes a swig of his beer, avoiding eye contact entirely. Morgause gives a little giggle that she promptly looks horrified by before taking a pull from her own bottle.

 

Merlin runs a finger over the rim of his glass and licks his lips, eyes half-closed as if in thought. Arthur catches himself staring. “I’ve never gotten high,” he says eventually, so quietly Arthur almost misses it, almost like he’s embarrassed. Arthur remembers that, thinking that the more rule breaking he did, the cooler he seemed. Now he finds the kind of innocence he sees in Merlin much more appealing than he did when he was a teenager, the contradiction of wanting to be accepted and wanting to stand out endearing. Arthur almost forgets to drink. “I’m just gonna end up the sober companion again,” Merlin complains.

 

Arthur squeezes his knee briefly and tries not to delight too much in the small smile he gets in return. “I’m just gonna end up drunk off my face,” he offers. It’s probably not entirely true, his alcohol tolerance must (and had better) be the highest in the room. But then he’s also the one with most life experience (and does that sound pretentious) and likely most opportunity to drink, so it’s probably not entirely untrue either.

 

Morgause claps her hands. “That is a brilliant idea!” Arthur pries his eyes away from Merlin to raise his eyebrows at her, but she’s not looking at him, instead waving at the rest of the circle with a glint in her eye bordering on maniacal. “ _We_ should get _Arthur_ drunk. He’s bound to have done a bunch of things we haven’t!”

 

Morgana grins. “That is a _brilliant_ idea.”

 

Arthur feels a pang of panic somewhat muted by what little alcohol he’s had so far. His eyes jump to Merlin momentarily almost like he doesn’t have control over them (and sometimes, around Merlin, he feels like he doesn’t) which is a bit ridiculous, really, because Merlin shouldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , think less of him for the things he’s done. Hopefully.

 

For his part, Merlin looks mostly curious with a dash apprehensiveness mixed in, maybe a drop of embarrassment. He gives an almost imperceptible shrug, like his permission is needed for this plan to proceed. Maybe it is, Arthur thinks, a silly little flutter in his stomach taking him by surprise.

 

“So,” Morgause says, eyeing him with slightly unfocused eyes like he’s a puzzle. It’s both amusing and unsettling. “I’ve never gotten blackout drunk.”

 

“Boring,” Mordred complains just as Arthur scoffs and finishes his beer. That’s not even remotely the worst he expected. Morgause shrugs like she’s only getting started and somehow Arthur believes that. He reaches over behind Morgana and pours himself half a glass of vodka the he tops off with orange juice. He has a feeling he’ll need something stronger than beer if they continue to grill him.

 

It occurs to him that he could leave. It occurs to him that he’s having fun.

 

“I’ve never had sex,” Freya says. It’s a little timid, like she’s not sure she should be saying that, but she’s only looking at Arthur. It reminds Arthur of how very much he’s not a part of this group and it stings. He tries to smile at Freya reassuringly; he thinks it ends up more tentative. She smiles back, a little more certain this time. “Pretty sure you should be drinking,” she says. Arthur does, along with everyone else (and he tries not to cringe when he sees Morgana’s glass being lifted). Except Merlin. Arthur files the information away, then promptly tries to unfile it because it’s _none of his business_. Or at least it should be none of his business but God, now he can’t stop thinking about it. He takes another gulp of his drink.

 

“I’ve never taken it up the ass,” Mordred says with a wicked grin. Arthur makes a face at the phrasing, but drinks anyway. Merlin squirms next to him.

 

“We all knew that one, come on,” Morgana huffs. “I’ve never had a threesome.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes at her but drinks. He can practically _feel_ Merlin’s eyes widening; Mordred whistles and Morgause hums what sounds like a vaguely impressed sound. Arthur’s beginning to feel a little dizzy though whether that’s because of the alcohol he’s rapidly ingesting or the fact that what feels like most of his blood is rushing to his cheeks. Morgana really does know far too much about him and his sex life, definitely more than he thought. He puts his glass down on the floor. “I’ve never...”

 

“Had a foursome?” Morgana suggests, clinking her glass against his.

 

“I’m not trying to get myself drunk, thanks,” Arthur replies. He’s not drunk enough to fall for that yet. Morgause laughs and he’s pretty sure Freya gasps and Mordred whispers _for real_. Arthur hopes he’s imagining how Merlin stiffens next to him. “I don’t like this game,” he whines. “I’m never gonna be able to think of something interesting that _I_ haven’t done that you have.”

 

Morgana pokes at his cheek. “What he means is, he’s too old to be playing this game with us.”

 

Arthur swats her hand away. “Oh fuck off.”

 

“Aw boo hoo, it was just getting fun,” Mordred says.

 

Merlin takes a sip of his drink. “Can always play something else,” he says with a shrug. Arthur can’t be sure but he thinks the casual way in which his finger traces over the glass is faked.

 

“We could,” Freya agrees.

 

“Are we drunk enough for seven minutes in heaven yet?” Mordred asks, waving in the general direction of the empty cupboard under the stairs.

 

“Are we _sober_ enough,” Arthur corrects automatically.

 

“We’re not in court, Arthur, no one’s gonna argue consent issues,” Morgana says but she gets up, empties everyone’s glasses and bottles and pours them each a glass of cold water. “Satisfied?”

 

Arthur dearly hopes none of these kids will need to be thinking about _consent_ tonight. The idea sobers him though, more than the glass of ice cold water he drains immediately because it’s something he’s thought about. Extensively. He _is_ too old to be doing this; _this_ is different from a few drinks and a few prying questions, this is potential for being in a confined space with someone he’s attracted to, someone he’s interested in, someone he _can’t have_ because that’s what the point of the game _is_. Throwing a party, providing alcohol, these are things he’d be doing if they were still living under the same roof and with their father, it’s his right, basically his duty as a big brother. _This_ isn’t part of that. He should leave.

 

Morgana puts an empty beer bottle on its side in the center of their circle. “Whose turn was it?” she asks. Morgause and Freya both point at Arthur. Arthur is still in the middle of a thought, something about age and alcohol and consent and how red Merlin’s lips look in this light, and he doesn’t even think before spinning. He ends up in the cupboard with Freya which is either really good or really bad luck, he still hasn’t decided. His body is not used to going from sober to drunk back to sober again this fast anymore. He rubs at his temples.

 

“So,” Freya says.

 

“So,” Arthur repeats. It’s awkward, but not in the way that Arthur remembers this game being, not in the way it’s supposed to be. Not the way it would be with Merlin. He shakes his head to clear it “This is awkward,” he finally settles on.

 

Freya smiles a little, shrugs, twirls a lock of hair around one finger. “A bit.”

 

“I’ve noticed. Sorry.”

 

“Nah, that’s alright.” She pauses. “You’re alright,” she adds.

 

“For an old guy?” he asks to lighten the mood. It works; she laughs quietly, more a breath than anything. Her shoulders relax and she leans casually against an old desk squeezed into one corner and immediately starts coughing when a cloud of dust goes up around her. Arthur waves a hand between them. “Sorry, we don’t really use this anymore.”

 

She coughs a few more times. “It’s fine. It’s not even the worst cupboard I’ve done this in.”

 

“Me neither. Do this a lot, then?” he teases.

 

She smiles. “Once or twice.”

 

“So how am I doing?”

 

“I’m sure you’ve done this yourself. Probably more times than me.”

 

Arthur shrugs. “Been a while.”

 

She tilts her head to the side and continues playing with her hair, curling it slowly around her finger. The single barely working light bulb above their heads washes her out, making her look like a particularly cute ghost. Something about her puts him at ease, maybe how she’s always at least a tiny bit awkward even around people she knows or maybe how she seems to be alright with that or maybe how none of that seems to stop her from having fun and making friends. He likes her. “Well... You haven’t tried to make out with me yet, so that’s good.” She makes a face at herself. “Not that you’re not—“ She waves a hand around, blushing. “I mean—“ She makes the same face again. Arthur can’t help laughing a little. She laughs too. “That— All of that came out wrong.”

 

Arthur shrugs. “It’s alright.”

 

There’s a knock at the door; Freya jumps. “Time’s up, come on,” comes Morgana’s voice through the door. Arthur lets Freya walk out first; he doesn’t miss the way Merlin’s eyes run over them. The way his heart jumps at the idea of Merlin thinking about what he was doing in there, of Merlin being _jealous_ , it isn’t warranted. And yet.

 

He regrets gloating innediately after because Merlin’s spun bottle lands on Mordred and Arthur has to sit through seven excruciating minutes of staring at the door and wondering what the hell is happening in there while Morgana, Freya and Morgause try to drag him into a conversation about nail polish colors. He casts a vote for dark green and goes back to staring at the door. When Mordred walks out, his hair a mess and his lips curved in a smirk, Merlin trailing behind him with a few fingers pressed to his mouth, Arthur ignores the lurch his stomach gives. He doesn’t quite manage to ignore the urge to put his hand on Merlin’s bicep and squeeze, possessive of something he knows he doesn’t have.

 

Morgause disappears with Mordred, comes out gloating with Mordred trudging behind her, looking a little dazed. Freya goes with Morgana; Morgana’s hand on Freya’s lower back looks like it’s been there before and Arthur is _not_ thinking about that. If Morgana is anything like he was at her age, he really does not want to know. When they return, Freya looks flushed and flustered in a way Arthur swears she didn’t after she left the cupboard with him. Morgana disappears again seconds later with Mordred; it sounds like they’re wrestling inside, a few small crashes and a lot of loud laughter coming muffled through the door. She’s back in the cupboard with Morgause after the next spin and comes back with her nails clumsily painted dark green. Through it all, Arthur’s hand somehow makes its way down to Merlin’s wrist and Merlin presses closer into Arthur’s side.

 

Then Arthur spins the bottle and it lands on Merlin.

 

As soon as the door is closed, Arthur feels like he’s suffocating. It’s completely different from how it was when he was in there last; there’s a tension in the air, heavy and thick, and Arthur thinks maybe he can see it in the air because his vision is going blurry. Merlin leans against the door, hands behind his back and legs crossed. He does that sometimes, Arthur knows, when he is trying to hide his nerves. Arthur’s hands are sweating. His heart beats faster but everything else feels slowed down. This is what he’s wanted from the moment he walked down those stairs, took one look at Merlin’s face and thought _someone’s kissed him tonight_. Maybe from the moment Merlin walked into their first tutoring session 15 minutes late and said _yes, I’m late; yes, I live across the street; no, I don’t have an excuse, I just wanted to see the end of_ The Good Wife _more than I wanted to see you_. Maybe even before that. And yet now, standing so close to Merlin they’re practically breathing the same air, he just wants to get out. He’s not sure he can control himself and right now he can’t even pretend that’s not true. He’s so far up in his own head that it surprised him when Merlin speaks.

 

“So I like you.”

 

Arthur’s head snaps up so fast he’s legitimately worried he might get whiplash. Merlin is looking at his own feet, hands still tucked behind his back; the tips of his ears are red. “Pardon?” Arthur asks. He wants to take it back as soon as it leaves his mouth. It’s overly formal, distant and Merlin hunches in on himself a bit. To his surprise Merlin ploughs on.

 

“I like you,” he repeats. And it’s not that Arthur didn’t know, or at least suspect, on some level but to have it out there, clear and in words, it’s different. It’s harder to ignore. It’s harder not to react. “And I think you like me too,” Merlin adds after a while; it’s quiet and almost a question.

 

Arthur should probably say something, he’s the mature adult here (but then, that’s the thing, he’s the one with everything to lose). He doesn’t know what to say though. He’s not sure he could get his vocal cords to work.

 

“You look at me. Sometimes,” Merlin continues. This time Arthur isn’t surprised; he’s a lawyer, he knows all about expectant silences even though he’s not using them on purpose in this particular case. “And the way you touch me, it’s always so... Gentle. And you get jealous. So. I think you like me too. Of course I have been wrong on these matters before. Got a fist in the face once over that. But I figured I was safe from physical violence with you... That was a joke. A bad one, obviously, sorry.” Merlin is rambling now and it’s incredibly endearing and Arthur _wants_ him and Merlin wants him back and it’s getting progressively harder not to just reach out and pull Merlin closer, but. But.

 

“We can’t.”

 

For the first time since the door closed behind him, Merlin looks at Arthur. The light flickers and for a few moments it looks like Merlin’s eyes are on fire. “Why?” he asks.

 

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. For this he is prepared; the arguments are right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, have been cluttering his brain for weeks now, months. It’s almost a relief to finally be talking to someone about this without holding back. “Because I’m too old for you,” he says. Merlin opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, but Arthur cuts him off. “Because you’re too young for me. Because you’re my sister’s best friend. Because it’s _illegal_. Because I would never know if you... Because I could never live with it if I...” He can’t quite finish those sentences, but Merlin seems to get it anyway.

 

“I _want_ you,” he says. Slow. Careful. Like it’s important that Arthur gets it, that he believes it. “I don’t care that you’re older than me. And it’s only illegal if we fuck.” Arthur flinches a little at the word and Merlin flashes him a teasing grin, as if to show that everything’s still alright; Arthur’s shoulders sag a bit and some of the negative tension leaves his body. “ _And_ there is no one who would report you anyway,” Merlin assures. He reaches out with one hand, his fingers shaking a little when they run over the outside of Arthur’s forearm. “I _want_ you. I _want_ this.”

 

Arthur snatches his arm away, grabs Merlin by the arms and hauls him against the desk. “You can’t just say that!” Merlin’s eyes widen. “I can’t— This is not— You _can’t_ want this.” Merlin shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but Arthur needs him to just shut up and _get it_ already. “You can’t _consent_ to this, there is no _legal_ way for you to— There’s a _reason_ those laws exist!”

 

Merlin snorts. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? Is there also a reason why there’s a law stating two men or two women can’t get married? ‘Cause I can’t imagine you agree with that one.”

 

It’s probably stupid of Arthur to have expected Merlin to just accept his reasons and obey his logic and go on his merry way, but he _did_ and the argument knocks him off balance, catches him off guard and he doesn’t have a counterargument. He drops his hands from Merlin’s arms and takes a step back. He needs to put some distance between them or he might do something he will regret. Merlin follows almost like he can’t stop himself; Arthur gets it, sometimes he too feels like Merlin is a magnet and he’s made of metal.

 

“Not everyone is the same, not everyone is magically capable of consent at _sixteen_ , not— I _want_ this.” Arthur has something to say in response, he knows he does, but his mind goes blank when Merlin steps even closer to him. Arthur’s back hits the wall. “I want _you_ ,” Merlin whispers. His hands land on Arthur’s chest, warm and barely there, but the touch is like a jolt of electricity to Arthur. His head falls back against the wall and his eyes slip shut. “I want you,” Merlin repeats, light and breathy. His lips trace up Arthur’s neck to press agains his jaw. Arthur almost doesn’t recognize the guttural sound that comes from his throat at that. “I want you.” He’s repeated it so many times that it sounds like a mantra at this point. It’s like he believes if he says it enough times, Arthur will start believing it too. Arthur is inclined to agree. He should be moving away after all. He isn’t.

 

Merlin goes up on his toes and presses his lips to Arthur’s. For all his confidence the touch is tentative, unsure. He must be so scared, so nervous. Of all things, Arthur feels proud. He grabs Merlin’s hips and pulls him closer. He feels the breath that leaves Merlin’s lungs right on his lips. And that is that. He kisses back. It’s slow and gentle and exploratory and Arthur hasn’t kissed anyone new in a long time so maybe it’s just that it’s a break in routine (because it’s quite obvious Merlin hasn’t had a lot of practice; somehow, that just gets Arthur hotter), but it’s _electrifying_ above all; the feel of Merlin’s lips against his, the taste of Merlin’s mouth, the hint of teeth, the messy, uncoordinated way Merlin kisses back, the little overwhelmed sounds he makes, it’s getting etched permanently into Arthur’s memory and he doesn’t know how he can ever walk away from this now because this is so far from the best kiss he’s ever had and yet it takes his breath away; he thinks if he wasn’t leaning against a wall he might not be standing.

 

The knock startles them both. Arthur opens his eyes. Merlin looks absolutely _wrecked_ , his throat working frantically, his shirt bunched on one side, his eyes dark, cheeks red and lips wet. Arthur doesn’t doubt he looks much the same. There’ll be no mistaking what they’ve been doing. It’s that thought, of others finding out, that finally breaks Arthur out of whatever haze he’s fallen into. There are _reasons_ this can’t happen, no matter how good Merlin might be at countering them, reasons Arthur thought of when he was thinking clearly and logically, not when he was acting on emotion and alcohol. So when the door opens, Arthur goes up into his study without another word and locks the door behind himself.

 

*

 

He doesn’t answer any of Merlin’s many texts or calls and he pretends not to be there when Merlin knocks on his door. He ignores Morgana’s pointed looks and more pointed silences and he especially ignores it when she tries to talk to him about what’s happening.

 

What they don’t seem to understand is that Arthur can’t do this. He can’t do it because the law says he can’t do it, but more than that he can’t do it because the law might be right. Arthur is positive Merlin _believes_ he wants this but Arthur doesn’t and never will know if it’s as simple as that, if Merlin would want him still were he younger or not a figure of authority over him, if Merlin even fully understands the implications of what he’s saying. He can’t do it because he will always wonder if he’s not somehow violating someone he genuinely cares about. He can’t do it because he couldn’t live with himself if he ever hurt Merlin in any way.

 

And maybe even more than that, he can’t do it because he knows he can’t do it halfway, because he knows he would give Merlin everything and he’s not foolish enough to think Merlin wouldn’t leave him behind as a passing experience of growing up.

 

*

 

Arthur gets away with it for longer than he expects. It’s when he’s coming back from work one day, early because he’s somehow let Merlin convince him that making his work his life is not a good idea, when Merlin ambushes him. Practically literally. Arthur opens the door and he’s sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. “You’re avoiding me,” he says. He looks tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Arthur can relate.

 

“How did you get in?” he asks. He can almost see Merlin holding himself back from reacting.

 

“Morgana gave me her key. You wouldn’t have opened the door,” he mumbles, like he needs to justify his actions. Arthur supposes he does but his first instinct is still to assure Merlin it’s fine. But then, his first instinct was also to kiss Merlin senseless.

 

“So, now that we’re here.”

 

“It’s not a thing, your age, not in the way you think, not really in any way,” Merlin says. He’s picking at his nails in his lap and doesn’t look at Arthur as he speaks. There’s a blue line on his cheek that Arthur wants to wipe away with his thumb. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not the same person now that you were ten years ago and I don’t know if I’d like the you from ten years ago so in that way I guess it’s a thing but...” He pauses, takes a breath. When he starts again, it’s slower, more controlled. “It’s not _because_ you’re older or because I feel like I can’t tell you no.” He chances a quick look at Arthur, one corner of his lips lifting. “You should know by now I don’t have a problem saying no to you.”

 

“You’re still—“

 

“Underage, I know,” Merlin interrupts, standing up. He shoves his hands into his pockets and starts pacing. “Look, I— I can tell you a million times that I _know_ what consent is and what I’m giving it for, but it’s not gonna matter because you’re gonna say that I _can’t_ give consent and that’s fine. We can— _I_ can wait.” He stops pacing and stands in front Arthur. He bites his lip when he looks up. “I just want _you_. And if— If all we can be is friends, then I’m... I’m fine with that. I hope we can go back to that. But I’d really like it if we were... More.” He nods like he’s said everything he had, then sags back onto a stool, all the fight drained out of him.

 

Arthur likes to think he’s good on his feet but Merlin has this effect on him where he catches him off guard with arguments that seem tailor made to leave Arthur speechless. He clears his throat. “I’d like that too,” he says before he can stop himself. “But we can’t— It’s not _ri—_ Look, if Morgana came to me tomorrow with... someone my age, I’d— Well, I’d probably punch them on the spot. Maybe do worse later.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince here. He realizes he’s been subconsciously moving towards Merlin, subverting his own words but he can’t seem to stop himself; Merlin is looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes, like he _knows_. When Arthur finishes with, “It’s wrong,” it sounds weak even to him. And then he says nothing more because Merlin is grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

 

*

 

No one in Arthur’s life knows about Merlin. No one other than Morgana, anyway. Maybe that’s part of the problem, the way Arthur has started to separate his life between home and not-home. Between what does and does not directly relate to Merlin. Like Merlin is some kind of dirty secret he needs to hide. He _is_ , is the thing, or at least Arthur feels like he is and that just makes him feel worse because if there was nothing wrong with what’s happening between them, then he wouldn’t feel the need to hide it but he _does_.

 

So when Gwaine asks him what is wrong, he lies. He says nothing. And Gwaine laughs in his face.

 

“You’ve never been a very good actor, Arthur.”

 

“It’s complicated,” Arthur replies. It is.

 

“Always is with you.” Gwaine takes another hit from his joint before offering it to Arthur. Arthur shakes his head. “You know what I think?”

 

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.”

 

“There’s no such thing as complicated,” Gwaine says, a thoughtful quality to his smile. Weed does this to him, makes him all deep and philosophical but not in a pretentious way, just casual, relaxed, like he’s so sure of what he’s saying that he doesn’t really need to convince anyone of it. It only makes Arthur horny and nostalgic and he doesn’t need that now, he has a meeting in the morning with a client who just so happens to be one of his father’s old friends, who just so happens to also be a homophobic bag of dicks and who Arthur just so happens to hate from the bottom of his heart; he also has a tutoring session scheduled with Merlin for the evening and while he’s been skirting around ignoring him he didn’t have the heart to cancel. “Everything is simple. We like to think it’s not, we like to think we’re all _complicated_ , us humans, complicated emotions, complicated situations, complicated decisions. We like to have an excuse for why we do or don’t do things. We say _it’s complicated_.”

 

Arthur plucks the joint from Gwaine’s fingers and takes a hit from it. Just one, it won’t hurt. “It _is_ complicated.”

 

Gwaine leans back against the sofa, spreads his arms out. His heads falls back; Arthur has always found the strength in his neck inviting. He leans over and runs his lips up the stretch between Gwaine’s shoulder and jaw, seals their mouths together and shares the smoke. “You’re interested in someone,” Gwaine says. Arthur groans and sits back on his knees. “Boy or girl?” Arthur raises one eyebrow. Gwaine shrugs. “Okay. Do they like you back?” Arthur looks away. “So what’s the problem?”

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“Either you’re both interested or you’re not. Either you get together or you don’t. In which case you always have us.”

 

Not for the first time, Arthur wishes everything was as simple as other people make it seem. “What if we can’t be together?”

 

“Why?”

 

Arthur bites his bottom lip. “I don’t know,” he says. He considers the truth but. He doesn’t know how that thought ends but he knows there’s a _but_ because he doesn’t give Gwaine the truth. “Distance. Different... goals in a relationship. In life. Different reasons for being in a relationship.”

 

Gwaine snorts. “God, you’re being vague.” He takes the joint from Arthur’s fingers and sucks on it. He shrugs. “Then you decide which is more important, the relationship or whatever is standing in its way.” He turns his head to the side so they’re face to face. “See? Simple.”

 

Arthur wants to say that no, he doesn’t see, no, it’s not that simple. Because he doesn’t and it’s not, but. But well, he kind of does and it kind of is. 

 

*

 

He kisses Merlin as soon as they’re behind closed doors that evening. And then again after Merlin solves the first problem Arthur gives him. And again when Merlin’s leaving. Merlin comes back the following day, unannounced and kisses him breathless against the hallway wall. After the fourth time it happens, Arthur stops being surprised. After the seventh, he expects it. After the eleventh, Merlin’s hands on Arthur’s face feel like the most natural thing in the world. After the eighteenth, Arthur’s hands on Merlin’s hips feel much the same.

 

It becomes less about math and more about making out. Arthur feels like a teenager again which is funny because he would have thought the opposite would happen but it doesn’t and it feels _good_ , to be young and reckless again.

 

The problem is Arthur doesn’t know, and isn’t sure he wants to know, where they stand. He doesn’t know what they are, where they’re heading, where their limits lie, what is allowed and what isn’t. It makes him uneasy whenever things get more... heated.

 

Merlin sits in Arthur’s lap sometimes, unbuttons Arthur’s shirts, runs his hands over Arthur’s bare skin and grinds against Arthur’s thighs. Arthur doesn’t respond in kind, though he wants to, is always practically thrumming with the need to grab at Merlin, to get him naked and squirming and _begging_. Instead, he disentangles himself from Merlin, puts some space between them and gets them focused on something else.

 

The _real_ problem is Arthur is scared. He wants, wants so many things, wants them so badly, but he’s _terrified_ of crossing some kind of line, whether his own or Merlin’s or legal. So he makes sure he doesn’t. He ignores the way Merlin is obviously hard when he steps away, his frustrated huffs, his disappointed looks, the insecure bite of his lip. He kisses Merlin a bit longer and a bit harder before letting him go on those nights.

 

*

 

Summer holiday has already started when Arthur turns 28 so there is really no good reason why he wouldn’t invite Merlin to celebrate with him. He doesn’t anyway. He goes to a club Gwaine used to work at, wears the ridiculous frog print shirt Morgana gave him that morning at breakfast (and the vintage bronze ring she left on his pillow later), has a few colorful fruity drinks he doesn’t normally allow himself, dances with Elena and Gwen, exchanges a few shouted jokes with Leon and Lancelot, shares a smoke with Gwaine. It’s a fun night even when he’s spending half of it checking his phone and texting with Merlin. They all rib him about it, especially Gwaine and Elena, but he avoids giving them anything definitive, partly because he himself is unsure over where he stands and partly because he’s tired, he’s just so _tired_ of always thinking about what’s right and what’s allowed and he needs a night off.

 

He goes home with Gwaine and Lancelot because there are things he wants and things he can have and sometimes those are not the same and for one night, just for _one night_ , he wants not to care and just _have_.

 

*

 

It’s been nearly a year, not that Arthur is counting. Nearly a year since the dusty cupboard under the stairs. Nearly a year of this strange limbo of neither being in a relationship nor being just friends. Nearly a year since Arthur probably sold at least a part of his soul to the devil. It’s been good at times and hard at times, it’s been difficult and confusing and _new_ , but now it’s just... comfortingly familiar. So whenever Merlin turns a conversation anywhere towards anything remotely resembling a relationship talk, Arthur shuts him down. The same uncertainty that used to drive him crazy in the beginning is now a security blanket that protects him from knowing for sure what he already suspects - Merlin’s too young to want anything serious, too young to want the same things Arthur does. It’s easier to ask Merlin about dragon mythology or point out a flaw in his math or kiss him silent than to _know_.

 

*

 

It’s taken out of his hands when Morgana mentions during breakfast one weekend, offhand and breezy and nonchalant like it’s nothing, that Merlin has a date with some boy from school he’s been hanging out with lately. Something must show on Arthur’s face because she suddenly looks at him with these soft eyes and puts a hand on his arm. “He said there was nothing serious between the two of you,” she says and well, that just makes him feel worse.

 

*

 

Arthur doesn’t know what he’s doing at the Trans’ front door. He’s not even sure he’s invited; Morgana is and she told Arthur about it but that doesn’t have to mean anything. They’re not arguing per se and it’s not Merlin’s style to ignore him, though they’ve been more distant lately, but that doesn’t have to mean anything either. Arthur’s losing him and that, he’s come to realize, means _everything_. Apologies have never come easy to him, but loving Merlin always has so that’s what he’s relying on when he knocks on the door.

 

Merlin looks surprised when he opens the door which is, well, not promising. He does reach out for Arthur’s shoulder, leans up towards him as if to kiss him (not as much as he had to the first few times, God, it feels like it’s been longer than it really has). He’s already tipsy, flushed and agreeable and smiling. Arthur runs his thumb over the cold metal of the gift sitting in his pocket, suddenly insecure.It’s a dragon shaped keyring; Arthur saw a tacky red one in a souvenir shop, almost bought it because it seemed like something Merlin would laugh at but cherish all the same, but he ended up ordering a stainless steel one made in the likeness of his family crest. It seemed like a good idea at the time, something Merlin would like (tied personally to Arthur through pure happy coincidence, of course); now it seems overly sentimental, presumptuous even. Merlin’s lips are barely a breath away from Arthur’s but Arthur can hear people inside and a car down the street. He steps away. Merlin’s expression changes immediately and his body language becomes closed off. He raises an eyebrow.

 

“I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Arthur says. His hand clenches around the keyring; it’s warmed to his body temperature.

 

It appears to be the wrong thing to say as Merlin crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorjamb so Arthur wouldn’t be able to come in even if he wanted to. “Right.”

 

“Happy birthday?” He holds out the keyring in an open palm; Merlin makes no move to take it or even look at it, so Arthur sneaks an arm past him and puts it on top of the cabinet next to the door amidst other presents, all of them wrapped in shiny colorful paper.

 

“So what is it then?” Merlin asks suddenly, barely letting Arthur pull his hand back. “Why are you ashamed of me? Of _this_?” he makes a vague motion with his hand between them and this conversation is just about the opposite of what Arthur wanted when he came here. It’s not even _true_. He’s still reeling from the sudden turn the evening has taken when Merlin takes a deep breath and continues. “Why am I not good enough for you? None of your friends know I even _exist_!” And that _is_ true is the worst thing and Arthur cringes before he can stop himself. “Is it because I’m just a lowly servant?”

 

“No,” Arthur insists, finally finding his voice because _no_ , that’s never even crossed his mind. “That’s not—“

 

“What am I, _beneath_ you because I’m some dumb kid you can— _Ooh_ , that’s it, isn’t it? I’m _not_ a kid anymore, I’m _legal_ today, does that now make me too _old_ for you?”

 

It’s like a slap in the face or a bucket of ice cold water dumped on his head or the person he’s in love with implying he’s a pedophile. His eyes snap from the ground to Merlin’s face and he _sees_ the guilt and the regret, immediate and honest and deep, but it doesn’t help; if anything it makes him angrier. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s reacting the way he is, all he knows is that Merlin is pushing his buttons because that’s what Merlin _does_ to him and Arthur is so, _so_ sick of it.

 

“How dare you?” he hisses, overly aware of where they are, who might be listening. “ _You_ were the one pushing for...” He waves a hand between them and isn’t that a bit ridiculous, nearly a year between them and they don’t even have a word for what they are. “I _told_ you this was a bad idea, I _told_ you we couldn’t do this.” Merlin is looking at him with these wide eyes, seemingly seconds away from crying; Arthur, however, is shaking with anger. Merlin doesn’t get to feel guilty here, he doesn’t get to regret what he said, because Arthur already has a vicious and possibly misplaced claim on those feelings. “I never did any—“ He breathes in, taking note of how his voice has risen dangerously in volume. “I would _never_.”

 

“I didn’t mean—“

 

But in that moment, Arthur doesn’t care, not enough to stay.

 

*

 

They don’t speak, don’t even look at each other again for a long time. Merlin gets a new tutor, a younger one, a boy his own age. Arthur tries not to be jealous, tries not to feel like there is something missing every evening Merlin is not around, tries to go back to working all the time. He fails.

 

*

 

It doesn’t get better. It always did in the past and Arthur expects it to now but it just. Doesn’t. Merlin doesn’t text incessantly (not after the initial drunken and misspelled apologies) and he doesn’t come over nearly as often; Morgana spends a lot of her time at the Trans’ and when Merlin does happen to be around they’re cordial to each other, sometimes with a slight edge of bitterness but it’s never more and never less. By the time the first snow falls, Arthur has moved on. Or so he tells himself.

 

*

 

The wedding is absolutely beautiful, and not just because Arthur helped plan it. The reception is relaxed and casual, the hall warm and beautifully decorated in warm golds and pale pinks and just enough white to keep the winter feel, the garden outside covered in snow and littered with giggling children. Elena is stunning in a snow white dress with gold details, Leon in a black suit and no tie. Everything goes off without a hitch from the weather to the teary vows to the catering to the adorably stumbling first dance. Arthur is in the middle of a conversation with Mithian when he has one of those moments where he realizes major things at an inopportune time. It’s just a fleeting thought, when Mithian’s hand covers his, her fingers too short and nails too long, that nothing feels _quite_ right when Merlin is not around. It isn’t the first time the idea occurs to him but it’s the first time it’s a fully formed, fully worded thought and that makes it more real somehow. But he has a slice of cake on his plate and a glass of wine on the table and a lovely woman to talk to and it’s neither the time nor the place.

 

He doesn’t think of it again until well after the reception when he’s lying awake in bed. He wonders if Merlin does this sometimes. He doesn’t suppose that’s likely. It’s still a nice thought, that maybe right at this moment Merlin is lying in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Arthur. He still has Merlin’s number in his phone, he could probably ask and Merlin would probably answer too, would probably not even lie, not to him, but he doesn’t.

 

He misses Merlin. It’s easier to admit in the quiet and the dark and the loneliness. But it’s not just about him. He wants Merlin there with him at events and weddings and family dinners, in his house and his bed and his life but mostly he just wants Merlin happy. He doesn’t want to stand in the way of that. Merlin will be happy; he has his whole life ahead of him, a lifetime to get over Arthur, to heal whatever damage Arthur may have caused, to forget, probably. He might already have. 

 

If Arthur could go back, maybe he would do things differently. If he had another chance, maybe he’d take it, maybe he’d fight.

 

*

 

He’s been thinking about it for a while; once he tells Gwen, he knows he’s making the right choice. “I’m thinking about quitting.”

 

“I did always say you were too good for corporate.”

 

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t think he’s _too good_ ; he thinks his firm donates 5% of billable hours to _pro bono_ cases and nearly a half of those are his, he thinks he doesn’t care about the work he’s paid to do nearly as much as he cares about the work he does for free, he thinks he works where he does because his father unsubtly implied it would be a good choice. “I’m looking into my options. _Everett and Associates_ has an opening.”

 

Gwen takes another bite of her chicken and raises an eyebrow at him. “But?” she prompts.

 

Arthur swirls his spaghetti around the bowl. He has no idea why he’s so nervous about this; this is _the_ job for him, he’s been looking into his options for weeks now, even considering employment outside of law, and nothing other than this really spoke to him so he doesn’t _need_ approval to know he’s right in wanting it, and yet. “Remember the old hostel on the way from my place downtown?” Gwen nods. “They’re turning it into a safe house for queer people, especially teens and young adults. They need a legal consultant.” He keeps his eyes on his half eaten meal until Gwen’s foot pokes at his thigh. She’s smiling when he looks up.

 

“That sounds great,” she says earnestly.

 

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and smiles back. “It pays significantly less but between my father’s trusts and what I’ve earned, there shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s what I want.”

 

Gwen puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Arthur, I really do think this is a good idea.”

 

She’s particularly tactile for the rest of the day while they discuss baby names and the latest episode of _The 100_ and it feels a bit like she’s proud of him.

 

*

 

Morgana’s acceptances start arriving late that spring. She’s accepted to all but two of the universities she applied to. She narrows it down to three on her own before coming to him one morning, looking like she didn’t sleep all night with her wild eyes and messy hair. She pours herself a cup of coffee and takes one of his pieces of toast, settles down at the kitchen table next to him and presents her case for her top three choices. Arthur can’t contribute to the conversation much since he knows next to nothing about design, but he remembers when he was going through the same thing and he remembers the confusion and the anticipation and the stress and the feeling of not being good enough. He figures his role in the process is less about actual knowledge and more about offering support; after all that was what he was looking for when he went to his father with his top three choices, all of which his father deemed subpar.

 

The closer she gets to a decision, though, the closer Arthur gets to a panic attack. Thinking about Morgana going off to Cincinnati or San Francisco or God knows where else to live on her own, unsupervised, doing just some of the things Arthur did when he was in university makes his stomach twist up in knots. He tells himself it’s all a part of growing up - the experience, the boyfriends or girlfriends or both, the partying and the drinking and the drama. It all serves a purpose in the end. But in that moment, he wants to protect Morgana from it all, keep her at home and have her magically mature and adult tomorrow without any of the stress the upcoming few years are bound to bring them both. She’s his little sister and yes, he plays the cool older brother who lets her get away with things an actual parents never would but he _worries_.

 

Morgana is in the middle of what he’s sure is a very convincing, yet very frantic argument for one of her picks. He stands up, hugs her from behind until she sags back into him and tells her all the things his father never bothered telling him.

 

*

 

This time Morgana’s birthday is anything but quiet. It’s big and elaborate and loud and it feels a lot more like a going away party than a birthday celebration. It’s like everyone Morgana’s ever met and some people she hasn’t have all piled into Arthur’s living room, nothing like the intimacy of the last time. Arthur sits at the bar with a glass of whiskey that’s grown warm and tries not to feel excluded. Merlin is there, somewhere in the crowd, talking to people who are not Arthur, laughing, drinking. He was one of the first people there; he brought a large box wrapped in violet paper and a tray of brownies. He was happy and smiling, they talked for a while, about gifts and birthdays and school.

 

It’s been better between them lately. Merlin’s been coming over more to help Morgana pack and prepare. He’s seemed... better. Less angry, less bitter. More relaxed, at ease somehow. Like he’s moved on. They’ve been talking, having actual conversations with genuine questions and answers that aren’t thinly veiled angry attempts at hurting each other. It’s different this time, a slow burn instead of a whirlwind; whatever’s been said and done between them still lingers there in the shadowy outskirts of their every interaction but maybe that’s not such a bad thing, maybe they’ve learned something from it.

 

So it was fine; it was fine to have Merlin over early and let him help with the setup and laugh with him at silly jokes. It was fine up until someone named Will arrived and Merlin greeted him at the door with a smile and a kiss and Arthur had to look away. He hasn’t been keeping track of them, though not for lack of trying. He’s caught only glimpses of them here and there when the crowd between them parts for a few seconds; he’s seen them hold hands and kiss and lean in far too close when speaking, he’s seen Will’s hand on the small of Merlin’s back and Merlin’s hand sliding up Will’s thigh, he’s seen how comfortable they are with each other even around other people. It’s none of his business, especially now it’s none of his business. He still feels a surge of jealousy every time he catches a smile on Merlin’s face and knows he’s not the one putting it there.

 

After it happens one too many times and he’s grown tired of swinging wildly between jealousy and guilt, he downs what is left of his drink and drives over to Gwen’s. Lancelot is the only one there so it’s him that Arthur ends up lounging with in front of a TV with a lapful of popcorn. A _Criminal Minds_ marathon is on and three episodes in, Arthur is proposing hypotheticals that are getting a little too detailed and specific to really be hypothetical when Lancelot asks, “Is this about that kid, what’s his name, Morgana’s friend?”

 

Arthur very nearly chokes on air. “How di— I don’t— Wh— What do you mean?” he splutters.

 

Lancelot laughs. “I know there’s some, shall we say, _tension_ between you and one of Morgana’s friends. Gwaine told me.”

 

“How does _Gwaine_ know?” Arthur asks, for a moment forgetting everything else Lancelot’s said. He doesn’t realize until after it’s out of his mouth that he’s essentially confirming everything and changing the subject at the same time. Lancelot is letting him, though.

 

“Think Morgana told him. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’ve been awfully close.”

 

Arthur’s heard that phrase so many times he can’t possibly hear it without innuendo and— “Oh, god. You don’t think...?”

 

Lancelot tilts his head, frowns. It takes him a few seconds but he seems to catch on quickly enough and then he starts laughing. “I’m not sure which answer you want to hear!”

 

Arthur groans. “Neither, probably.” He’s laughing though, because Lancelot is. It’s funny. It’s _easy_ , easier than he would have expected, there’s no judgement and no questions, just Lancelot being a good friend. He wonders why he didn’t talk to Lancelot about this before. 

 

*

 

Morgana flies to Ohio. Arthur drives her to the airport several hours early, helps her with her truly inordinate amount of luggage and watches her go through customs to meet with Mordred whose flight leaves an hour after hers. It almost feels like he’s just dropping her off at school or a friend’s for a few hours. It’s late and dark as he drives home, the streetlights are reflecting on the windshield of his car and the radio is playing some top 40 song quietly in the background; it feels like any other day, not like a day his life changes. Again.

 

The house is dark when he parks in the driveway. He takes the key out of the ignition, but stays in the car. He doesn’t know why he sits there listening to nostalgia hour or for how long, all he knows is that he can’t go inside. He lived out most of his life in this neighborhood, in this _house_ and it never felt like home; it hasn’t been that long since he moved back in, but even so he’s felt more at home in that time than all the years he spent here before that. It wasn’t unlike tonight, the night he came back, a little colder maybe; it _feels_ different though, everything - the house and the street and even Arthur himself. When he gets out of the car and takes a deep breath, it’s both like nothing has changed and like nothing is the same. He’s half expecting to see all his belongings packed in the back of his car like they were the night he put his apartment on sale and officially moved in again.

 

What he’s not expecting is to find Merlin sitting on his lawn. He’s playing with his keys; the metal of his keyring reflects the streetlight when he runs his finger over the dragon’s head. “Didn’t know you kept that,” Arthur says. He puts his own keys in his back pocket.

 

“Didn’t think I would but here we are,” Merlin replies. He’s smiling but he looks somehow sad. Arthur sits down next to him; the ground is cold. “You know, I don’t think I’ve thanked you for it,” Merlin says, not looking away from the keys in his hand. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

 

Arthur looks at him sideways, finds Merlin already looking at him. “You’re welcome.” Merlin smiles. “What are you doing here?”

 

Merlin shrugs. He seems almost bashful, avoiding Arthur’s eyes and running his fingers over the keys. When he speaks, it’s steady but quiet even in the near-silent night. “I didn’t want you to be alone,” he says. It’s a relatively simple as far as major proclamations go, nothing like the dramatic, sappy statements Hollywood has led Arthur to expect; somehow that makes it more potent.

 

It’s like the words start an avalanche and suddenly it’s all crashing into him, quitting his job and Gwen getting pregnant and Morgana leaving; it physically knocks the breath out of him and he has to put his head between knees or he might hyperventilate. Merlin puts a hand on his shoulders, rubs circles into his upper back, asks if he’s alright. Arthur misses him so much.

 

Merlin squeezes the back of his neck and leans into his side. “Well, don’t freak out now. You were doing so well sitting in that car for so long.” The laughter that bubbles out of Arthur is only slightly hysterical. “Hey, it’s past midnight, did you see? Happy birthday.”

 

At that Arthur looks up. “Right,” he says slowly, “I forgot.” He knows it’s a distraction but it works; breathing is easier.

 

Merlin bumps his head against Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re getting old.”

 

“I’m already old,” Arthur sighs. He feels how Merlin stiffens next to him and knows Merlin can probably feel him freeze too but it’s out there now, hanging in the air above them.

 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says after a beat too long. “For what I said. Implied.”

 

Arthur has to swallow past the lump in his throat several times before he can speak. “It’s alright.”

 

“No, it’s not, you’ve done nothing— You know I didn’t mean it.”

 

“Why not apologize then? Why the distance?” It’s a bit hypocritical to ask that, Arthur knows, he’s said and done things he regrets too, things that hurt Merlin and he hasn’t apologized either, it’s unfair to put it all on Merlin but it’s been weighing on him all along. He knows his reasons, weak as they are; Merlin’s are a mystery to him - if they are what he fears (simply outgrowing his feelings for Arthur, a crush that’s fizzled out), at least he will know for sure, will have reason enough to give up and hopefully move on and if they’re not, well. Maybe that can mean something.

 

“I didn’t mean _that_ but the rest of it was still true,” Merlin says, sure and unwavering, like he’s thought about it before, had to convince himself of it perhaps. “You _were_ ashamed. Or scared, or... I don’t know. And it made me feel... not enough.” That hurts more than probably everything else because his whole life Arthur’s felt _not enough_ , felt the self-doubt and disappointment like an itch under his skin; the last thing he wants is to be the cause of someone else feeling like that, especially someone he cares about.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Ironically, it doesn’t feel like enough.

 

Merlin shrugs one shoulder. “It’s okay.” He leans his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur can only see him from the corner of his eye; the yellowish streetlight reflects in his hair, making it look like a halo. “Are _you_? Okay, I mean.”

 

Arthur turns his head to the side, buries his nose in Merlin’s hair (Merlin’s breath hitches); it still smells the same, a weird mix of sandalwood and raspberry and a bit of baking powder. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. They sit in silence until the night chill has seeped into Arthur’s bones and a crick has formed in his neck and it feels like the very air he breathes smells of Merlin. He stands up and stretches out before stepping away can become impossible. He pulls Merlin up by his hand and then just... doesn’t let go. They haven’t stood this close to each other in a while; Merlin’s taller now, almost as tall as Arthur. Arthur imagines he can feel Merlin’s breath on his lips. “You’re a good friend, Merlin,” he says. It’s hard to walk away after that. He can practically feel Merlin’s eyes follow him all the way to the door.

 

* 

 

The next morning, Arthur wakes up to the pounding on his front door. When he opens it, Merlin is there, looking wild and restless and like he hasn’t slept a wink all night. Before Arthur can even wish him a good morning, he’s being backed into a wall with Merlin’s hand pressed to his chest and Merlin’s nose almost touching his. “I don’t want to be a good _friend_ , I never wanted to be a _friend_ to you, Arthur, _God_ ,” Merlin hisses. In the second it takes Arthur to figure out what he’s talking about, he’s stepped away and fuck, Arthur can’t _do_ this anymore. He grabs Merlin’s wrist, hauls him back in. “So don’t be,” he says against Merlin’s lips. Merlin just smiles before kissing back.

 

*

 

So Arthur has a different life now. He’s 29, he works as a legal consultant for an LGBTQ safe house, he visits his sister at her university. He lives in a cluttered two-story house in the suburbs. He has a boyfriend who’s finishing high school. So it’s not exactly what he expected. It’s good, though. Maybe better than what he did expect.

 

*

 

The first time they go out on a date they share ice cream in a park. Arthur is partial to chocolate and hazelnut, but Merlin prefers minty and citrusy flavors so Arthur gets the largest cone filled with scoops of lemon and orange and mint chocolate chip. They sit in the grass under a large oak tree with sticky fingers and Arthur can’t get enough of tasting ice cream from Merlin’s cold lips. Merlin makes a flower crown out of flowers they’re not supposed to pick and talks in a terrible posh accent; he means it as a joke but Arthur is hopelessly charmed. They get their fair share of dirty looks and Arthur almost yells at a person or two or a few but Merlin distracts him with gentles touches of his fingers and more kisses. It might be the best date Arthur’s ever been on.

 

*

 

Arthur doesn’t forget what Merlin’s said. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to, it practically haunts him, occurs to him at the worst times that Merlin thinks Arthur’s _ashamed_ of him, that he doesn’t want his friends to know. First chance he gets he hosts a Sunday dinner for everyone who matters in his life (he even Skypes Morgana once everyone else arrives) so they can all meet Merlin. It’s the first time he introduces Merlin as his boyfriend; his heart beats a little faster around the word every time he says it.

 

It goes well overall. His pasta is a little overcooked but Merlin’s caramel cupcakes, decorated with smily faces, are delicious. Leon appears to be slightly uncomfortable in the beginning but he says nothing and gets over it fast. Gwaine and Lancelot exchange some knowing looks Arthur doesn’t care to decipher and Morgana alternates between unsubtle whistles and exaggerated gagging noises on Arthur’s laptop screen. Elena hits it off with Merlin straight away, as Arthur predicted, and Gwen practically melts when Merlin draws a dragon in sharpie on her round belly. Merlin sits next to Arthur the entire night; he starts off nervous, his hands sweaty and shaking when they ghost over Arthur’s arms, but relaxes quickly until he’s laughing freely at Gwaine’s jokes and talking obscure _A Song of Ice and Fire_ trivia with Lancelot and Leon. It’s strange to watch Merlin as he carves out a place for himself in Arthur’s life, stranger still to be free to reach out and touch him whenever he feels like it. Merlin kisses him at the door before he leaves, quick and chaste and almost shy in front of everyone, but Arthur kisses back immediately, doesn’t let Merlin doubt for a second that this is what he wants. Gwen and Lancelot stay with him late into the night, sitting in the living room and talking in the bluish light of the TV long after Leon and Elena have gone home and Gwaine has left for work. Arthur falls asleep with his hands on Gwen’s belly and Lancelot’s arms around him.

 

He wakes up alone. There are three texts on his phone, all from Merlin. The first one reads _mom was still awake when i got back had to tell her_ , the second _she wasnt happy_. The third - _is it weird if i say i miss u_.

 

*

 

The first time Merlin stays the night with Arthur he drifts off on the couch while they’re rewatching _The Hunger Games_ on the flat screen in the living room. Arthur doesn’t have the heart to wake him up, so he carries him upstairs, lays him down on the bed gently, spoons behind him and sleeps.

 

He wakes up with Merlin’s arm draped over his waist and Merlin’s head on his shoulder and Merlin’s face tucked against his neck and Merlin’s breath tickling his ear and Merlin assaulting every single one of his senses. It’s a kind of morning he could get used to.

 

*

 

Morgana is absolutely insufferable about it. Every time Arthur Skypes with her, she asks about Merlin with a sly smirk on her face or a pointed cough. At first her teasing makes Arthur uncomfortable; he’s surprised the whole thing doesn’t make _her_ uncomfortable. He gets used to it though, because teasing him is what Morgana does. Eventually he starts playing her game, gives her increasingly more scandalous and unlikely answers. She catches on pretty quickly but it’s still fun for that half a second’s worth of hesitation on her face before she laughs.

 

Truth be told, he’s just glad to have her on his side. He’s always loved her, they’re family, of course he has, but over the last nearly two years he’s also come to respect her, even admire her at times. She can be a bit brilliant after all. It’s weird that he went 15 years without knowing that, without really having her in his life. Now that he does, now that she’s the only family he has left, he doesn’t want to do anything to fuck their relationship up. He would’ve figured dating one of her younger best friends fell firmly under the _fucking it up_ category; if his father had at any point brought home a woman Arthur’s age, Arthur’s not sure how he would have reacted, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been nearly as positive about the whole thing as she’s being.

 

He asks her about it once, about what she thinks of him and Merlin. She shrugs and says, “He makes you happy. The rest of it is none of my business.” It’s as close to a love declaration as Arthur’s probably ever gonna get from her and he’s almost misty eyed for all of 30 seconds until she ruins it by saying, “Besides, I can use it as leverage when you eventually disapprove of one of my relationships.” Arthur is so glad he has her.

 

Arthur is so glad she’s not making him choose. He loves Merlin, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t think Merlin would stand a chance in that particular fight.

 

*

 

The first time they have sex Arthur thinks he may be more nervous than Merlin. Merlin laughs and rolls his eyes and grumbles but Arthur takes forever anyway, touches and kisses every part of him, fingers him until his hand is cramping, watches every expression on his face and listens for every sound. Merlin comes twice before Arthur even fucks him and Arthur enjoys every second of it.

 

*

 

It’s the middle of the night in the middle of a work week when Lancelot calls to let them know Gwen’s in hospital. Merlin is still asleep next to him and Arthur doesn’t plan on waking him up but as soon as he hears the words _Gwen_ and _hospital_ in the same sentence, he panics. It’s too early, two whole weeks too early, and all Arthur can think about are the endless possible complications and for the briefest of moments he spares a thought for his father and how he must have felt the day Arthur was born; this isn’t even Arthur’s child and he’s damn near a full blown panic attack. That, in turn, only makes him feel worse because _no, his mother died like this he can’t—_

 

Through the chaotic swirl of the thoughts running through his head, he doesn’t even notice how shallow and fast his breathing’s gotten until he’s gasping for air and his vision is swimming. The room feels too small and too hot; he’s sweating and his hands are shaking - he can see them, blurry, in his lap, but they don’t feel like _his_ hands and when he tells them to move, get the phone he dropped on the floor and put it on the nightstand, they don’t listen.

 

Somehow one thing breaks through the fog in his mind and he hears Merlin calling his name. He blinks a few times until he can see more than darkness and stars dancing before his eyes; Merlin is sitting up now, looking at him with gentle and calm eyes, one hand hovering over Arthur’s shoulder as if unsure of permission. Arthur nods quickly; not a second a later, Merlin’s hand is on his shoulder, warm and steady and a new focus point. He still can’t take a proper breath but it’s something.

 

“Arthur, can you tell me what you need?” Merlin asks. He’s not leaning any closer than he already is and for that Arthur is grateful. He shakes his head, not even sure what he’s responding to anymore; he feels dizzy. “Okay,” Merlin says, “that’s okay. _You_ are okay. You’ll get through this.” There’s authority in Merlin’s voice, the kind Arthur’s never heard from him before and it makes him listen. Merlin reaches out with his free hand, slowly and carefully, takes one of Arthur’s hands and presses it to his chest. “Breathe with me,” he says. He takes deep breaths and counts each one of them down from 10, then starts the process again. Arthur focuses on the sound of his voice, the steady rise and fall of his chest, struggles to match him countdown after countdown until it gets easier and he’s breathing again, lying down and leaning against Merlin’s shoulder even though he doesn’t know how he got in that position. Merlin is not counting anymore, but his breathing remains deep and measured and he keeps Arthur’s hand pressed to his chest. “Better?” he asks.

 

Arthur takes a few more breaths before he decides. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

 

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

 

Arthur doesn’t, not really, but he figures he at least owes Merlin an explanation. “It’s Gwen. She’s in hospital. I don’t— I don’t know what happened, but they’re doing a C-section.” He consciously slows his breathing down when it picks up again.

 

“Okay, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you know.”

 

He does, is the thing. But it’s hard to admit that this isn’t only about Gwen. “It’s early,” he says stubbornly.

 

“Two weeks, that’s not too bad,” Merlin replies. He bites his lip as soon as the words are out, like he knows somehow that that’s not what Arthur needs to hear, that there’s something Arthur is not saying. “Sorry. Do you want to go to the hospital?”

 

Arthur’s eyes automatically go to his phone, lying forgotten on the floor. Lancelot said, a lifetime ago, they didn’t need him. He wants to be there either way. “Yeah.”

 

Merlin untangles his ridiculous legs from the sheets. “Alright, I’m driving.” Arthur can’t remember how he used to function without him.

 

*

 

Arthur’s there when Gwen brings Lyanna home. It’s not his kid, he has no claim on her and now that he has Merlin and they have a child he doesn’t feel like he belongs in their relationship anymore, not even temporarily; still, seeing her cradled in Gwen’s arms, bundled up in a lilac blanket, it does something to him. She’s not his, will never look like him, never call him _dad_ , but he swears he loves her the moment he sees her. She’s not his, but he almost starts crying when he holds her for the first time. She’s not his, but she’s _family_ all the same.

 

She’s not his, but he wishes, a bit, sometimes, she were.

 

It freaks him out because he’s not ready, not really, has only just and barely gotten accustomed to his role as Morgana’s guardian and Merlin is only a teenager still, lightyears away from wanting a family probably; _let’s have children_ isn’t really something one just says to their teenage boyfriend. By the time Merlin is at an age when he’s ready to start a family though, Arthur might be too old for that and that’s even more terrifying because Arthur’s always wanted to have a family eventually. He might be getting ahead of himself, but he looks at Merlin jumping at any opportunity to babysit Lyanna, playing with her, tucking her in with a smile on his face and he _wants_. He imagines sometimes, this idyllic life where he lives with Merlin in a big house filled with children and maybe that’s not entirely off the table because there is still plenty of time; in his fantasies, though, they’re always around the same age and that’s not something Arthur can magically make happen. It’s scary to really think about it, to actually contrast what he wants and what he knows are the realistic probabilities of their relationship. It makes him wonder if there is ever gonna be a time when they’re not at completely different points in their lives. If their individual timelines will ever intersect just right for them to work.

 

*

 

For Merlin’s 17th Arthur gives him a drawer.

 

*

 

When Morgana comes home for the holidays, it’s actually not the horror that Arthur expects. She walks in on them making out a few times, but Arthur is pretty sure he’s the only one left permanently scarred by the experience. She has to split her time between teasing him and teasing Merlin though so it all evens out. She’s utterly charmed by Lyanna and her newly found love for babbling and insists on feeding her whenever Lyanna spends the evening at Arthur’s so her parents can have the night off; Merlin helps by making faces at Lyanna and gagging noises at the weirdly colored baby food. It kind of reminds Arthur of when he used to feed Morgana when she was still a baby.

 

One night Arthur is drying off from his shower when he overhears Morgana and Merlin talking downstairs. She tells him about her university, the friends she’s made and projects she has to finish before going back, about life on campus, inconsiderate roommates and the stress of maintaining good grades. He tells her about how badly he wants all that and how he can’t afford it. In the morning Morgana goes to meet some friends for brunch with a slightly smudged ballpoint pen drawing of a dragon’s head on her forearm and Arthur makes the mistake of offering to pay for any university Merlin picks.

 

It’s the biggest fight they’ve had yet, save the one that had them not speaking to each other for weeks, and Arthur doesn’t even feel like he’s a part of it. He only gets a few weak words of protest in while Merlin seethes about not being his boytoy, about making it on his own and needing a boyfriend, not a _sponsor_. By the time Arthur manages a whole _that’s not what I meant_ , Merlin’s already closing the door behind himself.

 

It’s probably bad timing on his part but it’s the first time Arthur thinks that maybe this relationship means as much to Merlin as it’s always meant to him and that maybe he’s not the only one insecure about his role in it.

 

*

 

Merlin gets a job at an ice cream parlor. His mom does most of the work around the Trans’ so his helping out there is paid as a part-time job and that’s not enough for Merlin to put himself through college. He hasn’t decided on anything yet, is not even sure if he wants to study English or history, but what he has decided, vocally and in no uncertain terms, is that he wants to pay for it on his own. So against all his instincts, Arthur doesn’t try to help financially again beyond an occasional outrageous tip he leaves when he stops by after work. The place is about halfway between there and home so he gets a few scoops of whatever Merlin decides to surprise him with on his way back, sometimes waits Merlin’s shift out so they can go together. Merlin likes it there, especially when he gets to eat leftover ice cream or take it home, but Arthur knows it doesn’t pay very well, especially not when summer eventually draws to a close.

 

Merlin sells some of his more impressive works of art, bakes for a few events thrown by his and Arthur’s acquaintances and starts tutoring English. Sometimes he does it in Arthur’s house since he spends so much time there anyway. He never says anything about it and Arthur knows for sure he’s not ashamed of his mother but he thinks it also has something to do with how uneasy Merlin gets about being seen at the Trans’ house where he is treated as the help he technically is. Arthur doesn’t think there’s any real shame in it, only discomfort; still, he remembers that night he and Morgana had dinner at the Trans’, how Merlin and his mother served their food and filled their glasses whenever they asked for something. The Trans’ are lovely people, polite and kind and would never intentionally treat Merlin as beneath them but Arthur is intimately familiar with Merlin’s issues with self-worth. He is extra careful when Merlin’s students are around to treat Merlin as an equal and with respect. He tries not to get in the way but he does like to observe from a distance. Merlin explains with his hands as much as he does with words, he comes up with examples that wouldn’t be out of place in a fantasy novel and his eyes light up when his students get something right; Arthur is hopelessly endeared by everything about him.

 

Sometimes Merlin runs his fingers over the back of Arthur’s neck in passing and sometimes Arthur’s hand finds its way to Merlin’s waist when Merlin hands him coffee or food. They’re small touches, insignificant to them in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes Merlin’s students notice them and sometimes Arthur sees them whispering in Merlin’s ear after. Sometimes those students don’t come again.

 

Never does Arthur have to ask and never does Merlin have to say. Merlin doesn’t seem to care but it still gives Arthur pause every time. He wonders if what people think of them will ever stop making him question their relationship (when he mentions it to Morgana, she tells him that it’ll stop bothering him what other people think when he stops thinking it himself and well, yeah, that’s a good point, he supposes).

 

*

 

For Merlin’s 18th Arthur gives him a key. (For Arthur’s 30th they pretend he’s not as old as he is.)

 

*

 

It’s hard for Arthur not to take his job home, harder still not to project it on the people in his life. He thinks of himself when he was a teenager, the years he spent convincing himself he was straight because no other option was presented to him, how guilty he felt when he first kissed a guy, how long it took for him to be comfortable enough with his own sexuality to actually sleep with a guy, the shame and fear he felt at the thought of telling his father. He thinks of Morgana being the only one around forced to listen to their father’s speeches about traditional family values and how conflicted they must have made her feel, how she must have been as torn as he was between the love for their father and the hate for everything he stood for, of what might happen to her now that she’s on her own.

 

He thinks of Merlin. Merlin, who’s the same age now as so many he sees on a daily basis at the safe house. Merlin who looks like so many runaways and castaways who find their home under that roof. Merlin who Arthur knows for a fact is one of the many abused and bullied that will never find their way to a safe house.

 

It’s hardest not to think back on every time Morgana called sounding stressed or remember every time Merlin came to him with bruises and scrapes or question every time they seemed under the weather. On the days that he can’t stop himself, he gets quiet and distant. If Merlin is there, he sits next to Arthur and draws; he doesn’t talk or try to make Arthur talk, just offers his silent presence as comfort.

 

*

 

They don’t argue a lot, not seriously, but when they do, it always seems to be about the same things and it always seems to end the same way - in a screaming match that leads nowhere because Arthur’s biggest hangup is on their age difference and Merlin’s biggest hangup is on their class differences and there’s precious little either of them can do to change those things. They deal with it, or at least Arthur thinks they do. He’s working on trusting Merlin that he’s in it for the long haul and Merlin is working on not rolling his eyes every time Arthur says something particularly posh. Still, they end up right here, in the living room, yelling at each other every time Merlin runs into one of the two servants (only two when his father employed at least a dozen, though he’s learned this is not a good argument in a discussion) Arthur has. They only come once every two weeks and clean the place top to bottom. It’s a few hours’ work at most and much less than the day-to-day cooking and cleaning and shopping his father required others do for him. This, too, Arthur has learned, is not a good thing to mention. The worst thing to bring up though, and coincidentally the thing that always ends up leaving Arthur’s mouth at some point or another whether due to what he actually thinks or years of conditioning, is how that is a job and somebody has to do it; Arthur is simply their employer (and a good one at that) and doing what he asks is simply their job. It never fails to make Merlin livid, positively vibrating with anger, to hear that. It makes him go from saying how awkward it is to go from being a servant to having a servant to calling Arthur an entitled elitist asswipe (which, Morgana points out when she hears them one summer, is not far from the truth).

 

The core of the problem, in Arthur’s opinion at least, seems to be that they’re coming at it from different points of view. To Arthur, it’s about the basics of business - one person paying another to do something that needs doing; he thinks no less of Miriam or Alexa or any other person working under him based on what they do. To Merlin, it’s all inextricably tied to the question of equality and human value; it’s hard for him to see it as simple employment when he spent most of his life on the wrong end of that equation, tying his own worth to his position in the hierarchy. Unfortunately the part of Arthur that understands Merlin’s reasoning always seems to fly out of the window when they’re arguing, leaving him word vomiting what he’s sure makes him sound like a, well, an entitled elitist asswipe.

 

Gwen walks in on them in the middle of one such argument. She’s dropping a toddling Lyanna off for the night just as Arthur opens his mouth to say something that would probably have been taken the wrong way. From the look she gives him when he opens the door Arthur figures she heard at least some of it but she has the good grace not to mention it and Merlin has the decency to wait until they can no longer hear the engine of Gwaine’s old Impala to leave and slam the door.

 

When Merlin comes back just in time to read Lyanna a goodnight story, he doesn’t apologize. Arthur doesn’t either. He doesn’t think they’ll ever quite see eye to eye on this particular subject. He figures the fact that they’re learning to live with their differences is a good sign, though.

 

*

 

For Merlin’s 19th Arthur gives him a promise.

 

*

 

Merlin whispers one night, with the lights out and Arthur’s arm around his waist, “What if I didn’t go to university?”

 

It’s a conversation that’s been a long time coming; Arthur knows Merlin’s talked to Morgana about this and while he’d be lying if he said that didn’t hurt his feelings, he’s been trying to let Merlin come to him in his own time. “I thought you wanted to go to university?” he asks, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

 

Merlin shrugs, the motion awkward with his arm tangled with Arthur’s. “I thought I did too,” he says. “I like the idea of it. The experience. Adding a few letters after my name.” He pauses and Arthur can imagine him biting his lip. “But... It’s a lot of work and a lot of money and I’m just not sure it’s worth it.”

 

Arthur presses a kiss to the back of Merlin’s neck before replying. “Well, if you don’t go to university, then you don’t go to university,” he says. He’s vividly reminded of Gwaine’s short-lived everything’s simple philosophy.

 

Merlin snorts. “Really, that’s all you have to say to me?”

 

It’s Arthur’s turn to give an awkward shrug. “It’s the only thing that really changes. And you have your whole life to change your mind anyway,” he says.

 

Merlin turns around in his arms, like he needs to look into Arthur’s eyes to check he’s telling the truth. He puts a hand on the side of Arthur’s face. “I was thinking about getting a certificate in child care instead.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And I’m starting at that school next week.”

 

“Okay.”

 

It makes no difference to Arthur where Merlin works, between Arthur’s earnings and inheritance it’s not like they struggle, but he knows Merlin likes to contribute. He has, steadily; with glowing recommendations from old students and catering clients he’s had no shortage of new ones and he’s been able to participate, more or less consistently, in their groceries budget and keep some money to himself, even take Arthur out to some pretty fancy places a few times. Mordred’s been getting him gigs designing fantasy characters for the games the company he’s interning for programs; it’s always paid well and Mordred has hinted that there might be a position for Merlin there, but it hasn’t been a steady income and besides, Merlin doesn’t like being told what to draw and how to do it. He got a job as an assistant at a private language teaching school though, one that he’s actually genuinely excited for. As soon as his interview was over, he called Arthur to tell him how it’d gone. He sounded so proud of himself. Arthur was pretty proud too. He thinks he’ll probably always be proud of Merlin, university or no university, graphic designer or administrative assistant.

 

*

 

The morning of Merlin’s first day at the school, Arthur is pouring coffee for himself when he nearly drops the mug as Merlin’s arms wrap around his middle. He’s not used to Merlin working actual work hours. He turns around to find Merlin smiling at him sleepily. It’s quite devastating. His mind must still be asleep because it only dawns on him after Merlin’s already had his coffee and gotten dressed and started on his breakfast that Merlin’s going to work. At a private school. Where he’ll be working with other young intelligent people. Where most students are older teens.

 

Arthur’s first thought then is that someone in a position of power will take advantage of Merlin. His second thought is that Merlin’s gonna fall for some student or teacher or another assistant, anyone who’s not a 30-odd years old man about to start getting grey hair and erectile dysfunction (maybe he’s exaggerating). He doesn’t get a third thought because Merlin drops his spoon into his bowl of cereal, pushes off from where he’s leaning against a counter, backs Arthur into the kitchen table and tells him to stop being an insecure jackass. He then proceeds to spin Arthur around, bend him over the table and fuck him until Arthur can’t see, let alone walk, straight.

 

*

 

Merlin comes home one evening with dark foil taped on his chest, the corner of it just peeking out from underneath his button-down. When he takes it off an hour later, it’s a tattoo of a dragon. It’s big and detailed, beautifully shaded, with scales in reds and golden yellows blending together and shiny dark eyes. It looks suspiciously like the Pendragon family crest. Arthur spends the next two weeks carefully putting ointment on it and slapping Merlin’s hands away when they go to scratch at it. The morning he wakes up to find Merlin poking at his own chest and declaring the last scab has finally fallen off (Arthur suspects Merlin of tearing it off), Arthur leans down and kisses it; Merlin turns as red as the dragon’s scaly back.

 

*

 

For Merlin’s 20th Arthur gives him a ring.

 

*

 

When Merlin flops down on his back next to him, still panting, covered in sweat and with come smeared over his stomach (and probably leaking between his legs from the way he squirms with a blissful smile on his face), Arthur does not expect the words, “D’you ever think this house is too big for us?” to leave his mouth.

 

Arthur turns his head to the side to look at him. “ _What_?” He’s not exactly in the habit of discussing real estate when his dick still hasn’t gone down from his last orgasm.

 

“Well, it’s just you and me. We don’t need enough rooms to house your extended family _and_ mine,” Merlin says reasonably as he swipes a hand between his legs and lifts his come stained fingers to his lips. “I’m not saying we should get a one-bedroom apartment, but...” He licks his fingers clean and hums. Arthur shivers. He looks at the ceiling.

 

“Is this what it’s come to? We’re discussing real estate while having sex?” he asks, mostly to buy himself enough time to get his heartbeat back under control.

 

Merlin sits up, leans on his elbow. He traces a finger over Arthur’s cheekbone. “Technically, we’re not having sex anymore.” He wiggles closer. His hand wraps gently around Arthur’s throat before running down his chest and settling low on his stomach.

 

Arthur chuckles. “You have ridiculously unrealistic expectations of my stamina.”

 

Merlin huffs, but rolls over and lies down on his stomach. “So about the house?” he asks the pillow his face is buried in.

 

Arthur cracks his neck and puts his hands behind his head. The thought has occurred to him. The house is easily too big for them; they share the bedroom and the study and virtually every living area and while it has been convenient to have the spare rooms for when Morgana is there or one of them is having friends over for the night or when they need some time away from each other to blow off some steam because they’re arguing, they could easily make do with a single story or even an apartment. Hell, Gwen, Gwaine and Lancelot have a kid and the single apartment they now share is much smaller than Arthur’s house. Still, it’s his childhood home. When he moved out he swore up and down never to come back and when he moved back in after his father’s death he wasn’t really thinking about the longterm, but the thought of it just... not belonging in the family anymore is strange. Not necessarily unpleasant, but strange.

 

“You won’t be as close to your mother,” he says.

 

Merlin grunts. He turns his head just enough to expose half of his scrunched up face to Arthur. “Did you have to bring my mother into this?” Arthur just laughs. He’s cooled down to the point where he just feels pleasantly loose and relaxed. He reaches over and gently runs a hand down Merlin’s bare side. Merlin shivers and his skin breaks out in gooseflesh under Arthur’s fingers. “ _Anyway_ ,” he says pointedly, “I can drive out when she needs me. Besides, she’s looking into getting another job, probably in the city. Something easier, you know.”

 

Arthur drums his fingers against Merlin’s hip in a random rhythm. There’s no real, pragmatic reason why he wouldn’t want to sell the house and buy something for the two of them. The house is too big and he pays handsomely to have it maintained, money that could go to better use, it’s too far out from the city, their respective works and friends, but it’s _his_ house. Which, he belatedly realizes, may be part of the problem. For all that Merlin lives there now and there are traces of him in every room, it’s still very much Arthur’s house.

 

Arthur must have been quiet for too long because a second later Merlin bumps their elbows together to get his attention. “Hey, we don’t have to. I’m happy here,” he says and God, Arthur feels guilty at how _honest_ it sounds.

 

“No, no, it’s just...” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t think of this as my house on some level.” Merlin smiles at him. There’s something sad in the curve of his lips. Arthur remembers when Merlin talked about how he never really felt at home anywhere; he wants to change that. “No, you’re right. Let me talk to someone who knows about the market more than I do.”

 

Merlin hides his face in the pillow again, but not before Arthur catches the huge grin that spreads over it. Arthur didn’t realize this was so important to Merlin; the conversation sounded innocent and casual enough when it started but now he thinks it was about more than just the house. Either way, Arthur’s happy to give in to Merlin if it puts that kind of a smile on his face.

 

Merlin chooses the exact moment that thought occurs to him to poke him in the ribs. Harshly. He giggles when Arthur curses. “You know, I can think of a few ways to have sex that don’t require _you_ to have stamina,” he says, bending his knees under himself without lifting his upper body from the bed. He spreads his legs and arches his spine. Arthur’s mouth waters; if he were any younger, he’d probably be getting hard again. He walks his fingers down Merlin’s back following the curve of his spine down to his ass and dipping them between his cheeks where Merlin is wet and loose and sticky with Arthur’s come. Merlin hums low in his throat. Batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly, he asks, “Clean me?” Arthur rolls his eyes. He gets on his knees and behind Merlin anyway.

 

*

 

Everyone’s there for their fourth anniversary dinner, friends and family from both their sides gathered around the huge dining room table in Arthur’s house one last time. There’s good food and good wine and good jokes. The house rings with laughter and the clink of cutlery against plates and Lyanna’s happy squeals. The whole evening is remarkably... pleasant. Warm and cozy. Throughout the entire meal there’s only a single moment of awkwardness when Arthur sinks his fork into the chocolate cake Merlin baked and Hunith asks, “So, when can I expect my own grandkids?” in a voice too even to be natural. She doesn’t look up from where she’s braiding Lyanna’s hair and Lyanna keeps rocking in her lap and slurring through some children’s song. Everyone else though, everyone is clearly acutely aware of how loaded the question is whether they show it by studiously ignoring everything outside of their plate like Gwen or by snorting half the sponge in their mouth into their nose like Gwaine.

 

Merlin, however, doesn’t miss a beat, just shrugs and says, “Hopefully soon. We do have two spare bedrooms at the new place for a reason after all.” He looks at Arthur across the table and gives him a serene smile, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s just said and how it’s making Arthur’s heart beat faster. Arthur’s never been more in love with him than in that moment.

 

*

 

For Merlin’s 21st Arthur gives him a _yes_.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~also i don't wanna presume but if you are by chance~~ _brunettepet_ ~~hi ilu sorry i promise i'm not being a dick and just picking ppl at random but u deserve more than a half-assed attempt in the middle of writing other things and harry and louis are so pretty~~


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